Redlake - Героиня на героине - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Testing themselves, they give up, causing pain first of all to me, without thinking about it, at all. They pretend that they are really important, when they often don’t ask this very simple “how are you doing?” Although, even if I wanted to, I would still deviate from the truth; I wouldn’t consider it necessary to say that everything has been bad for a long time. Why scream heart-rendingly once again into the void and senselessly strain your voice. If you already know that this will sound “understandable”. ..a priori. After all, for them I’m an ordinary, out-of-the-ordinary, fucked-up teenager who has no feelings at all. Who is incapable of understanding anything at all. When in fact I understand a lot more than them.

Lately I’ve noticed that I’ve changed a lot, though for everyone else. Inside, it’s almost unchanged. Insignificant. I’m still the same, only I’ve started to play roles better. And it seems like I’m good at it. Blend in with this stupid crowd, although mentally putting myself above them all. And it’s not narcissism at all and not for knowledge... no. I haven’t seen it in people for a long time that sincere and real understanding. They have forgotten how to help for “simply”... for simple “simply”. They have forgotten how to feel the pain of others... if they themselves are still capable of feeling something. Which I wildly doubt. real ones, without thinking that he is one of them, from the same box. In which simple bright qualities have long been lost, and most importantly the soul.

They open up to you, squirm, but you don’t care. Suddenly your turn comes and now you feel painfully, maddeningly ill. You are looking for the very one to whom you want to tell your heartache, to swell your long-suffering, aching soul as if drunk, but you don’t find it. And then you thoughtlessly pour out everything that was inside to the first person you come across, you might say to a passerby. And he doesn’t care either.

Become human!

Became. Was. I'm staying. I'm sorry. And more often I want to do the same. To spit in someone’s soul. It sounds ferociously cruel, justifying itself, this feeling has been parodied in me. I want to... but it doesn’t work out. When they open up to me, I am unarmed. And I sincerely want to obediently listen to someone else’s consciousness. I forget that I can’t sort out my eternal mess. I forget myself... and it turns out that I’m burying myself in strangers. That’s why it’s getting deeper, soon there won’t be any room left. Or there are no more left.

I kind of hate and despise people. But I always try in vain to help when they ask me for it again, and they ask me often. I would even say that many people trust, open up, ask for new advice and help. I can’t help but appreciate how in demand I am. I cannot refuse those who need me, even those who once inflicted a particularly deep secret wound on me.

I honestly like to delve into people, I have a weakness for recognizing their true face. Revealing their masks. Therefore, I am increasingly disappointed, not meeting my hopes and wishes. I don’t understand many empty and dead souls, a meaningless, I would say, existence, but still there are exceptions among this crowd of indifferent creatures.

I like to rummage through others, but I don’t like to open up myself. I confessed enough to some in my time. I am that same fish, well, the same one that gets caught on the same bait twice, three times.../constantly. I'm trying to improve. Not bad by the way.

The curtain is closed. I only open it when I play the next scene to naive people, but so stupid, empty and funny to the core. They are attracted to my theater - they buy it and often applaud, pretending that they really care about it. Not realizing that I am also playing, just like them, while watching and applauding. Their sympathy is as low as my laughter. Then they try to put pressure on the patient, saying that they know everything about you, although the production was false and there is not a fraction of the truth in it. In fact, I am a spectator and I applaud them, only not as actors, but as clowns from a big circus.

A unique heroine of our time. Like Pechorin or Onegin from the painfully known Onegin.