I.Witness - Фаталист - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The cold of empty beds. Tickling and laughter of drafts. Laughter in the corner of the far room. Mold and slush. Eats up time and doesn't let you sleep. Smothers me with rusty fingers every night. He puts his cold, sweaty hands under the blanket. It’s painful, close, and the hours before dawn are few. A swarm of bed bugs, paws under thin skin. Dead black blood gushed out in a hoarse throat. Doctrine for the weakest. Toy feats for the most timid, submissive, greedy and petty. Just like me. Wasted sleepless nights, paranoia of endless days. Wasted: Do you still believe you are out of this cycle? The sobering cold of the gravestones will put everything in its place. This dilapidated-looking monolith is beyond the strength of even the strongest teeth. The hand of the one who gives us unknown pain will not fail. For now we are in an ominous weakness. Excusing weakness.

I don't need to write these songs anymore. All I feel is tired. My life is incapable of becoming the same. I lost and betrayed everything I had: mad races in the chambers of the snowy, vast. Empty trains, reserved seats, lanterns, dreams, snowdrifts, cozy fires, red sunrises without the sun. The heartbeat is wild, hope is in brown shells. And the dirty, gnawed edge, which is so sweet to walk on. And a dirty sharpened edge, from which you are not afraid to fall. A life shattered by hills that he was afraid to lose. The remaining wretched region in which to now get used to.