When we say "goodbye" to each-other, there is always something in our memories, piercing our insides so strongly that it causes flaming, which can't be helped right immediately. I understand, yes, I understand that everything gone before - relationship and feelings are nothing but dirty picture with our photo. On it we only tried to pose, following our script just for this play.
(Когда мы прощаемся, всегда в наших воспоминаниях остаются вещи, которые настолько сильно пробивают все внутри, что начинается пожар, который потушить нам удается не сразу. Понимаю, что все что было, чувства, отношения - просто грязная картинка на которой мы были изображены вместе со всем этим. На которой мы просто пытались позировать, лишь играя роль ради этого представления.)
lyrics
This is a story I wish to forget
Pages I'll never throw from my mind
Nor even bury deep under the ground
It's the "Dead Souls" of my aching sense
Rememer how burned you with kisses my chest?
Burn me please one more time
Freezing, I've prayed for that fire so much
Save me please, light me up
Your feelings are drawn
The script which you play
Over and over and over again.
Still though I'm willing to ask you a thing:
(No, everything was great and we, you and I, were smiling and laughing and loving so sincerely, so cheerfully, but then, it ended up with "hi - bye" and even those we say to each other only with the sudden glance exchange in that rare random in-the-street-meeting in one of those such lousy days, when you don't want to at least open your eyes. And someday, all we are gonna have, is those countless nights in which the "Why I was so dumb to loose my chance" red thread gonna connect us, but you know, the thread will never become Ariadna's.)
Will you just ever, oh, will you just ever
Remember those shiny and light-hearted days?
Which you for sure erased for our sake.
(Why there's a choose that I have to make
Why there's no option for me to escape
Why do I always have to forget
For sake of myself, of yourself, of our fates)
Why it's so hard to sit back and relax
To listen in silence the waltz of our hearts
To sit and just wait with no bustle around
Will ever that waltz come to it's final step.
supported by 4 fans who also own “I Hung This Dirty Picture About Us In My Room”
I heard this a decade or so ago and just had my mind blown by the combination of crust punk and a fucking cello. What's more to say? Well its raw, cathartic, and a great story to boot. Stella Rotko
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