You'd better be quiet

You'd better be quiet

You'd better be quiet

The words have become tangled

Under the mirror are the keys

Returned them to where I took them

But where is the night taxi?

That takes me to my friends?

I won't be able to get drunk,

But I'll pretend I'm wasted

Ugh, I'm so tired, damn

I'm tired of myself more than anything

You can't really rest from yourself,

I carry myself everywhere

You can't fool yourself, even though I know all the details about myself

And I serve myself, I'm a good judge and a talented lawyer

Damn, I'm so tired of holding myself back

In my own latitudes around

Prohibitions, fences, and boundaries, imagine I once set them myself

I am both my prison and my prisoner

You're in a cell with yourself, wanting to make a deal, not trusting,

Because I know myself well.

Do you hear the sad saxophone weep?

The wind sadly whirls the leaves, like a record in a waltz.

But I sit myself down, next to me at the table set,

Today I have the most serious conversation with myself.

My pocket hands are empty, I came to speak,

And I know that you, like me, are tired of the war.

Show me, show me all my cards on the table.

And you put yours down so I can see.

Everyday life is monotonous, the city is monochrome,

Put on electronic calls

The outlines of the area sink behind the glass of the Balcony in search of prey

They dig the skins of the move, not finding their own

Those who are hunting them are on the prowl.

Everyone chooses what is more precious to them.

There is an increase in income, or a spiritual growth

Unfortunately, many people can't handle the news cycle anymore, like whistling flasks.

So much needed a track, a tray, and a drag.

They were hidden behind the bushes, spinning the pulls.

Somewhere in a high-rise building, there's someone hiding whom you could only call a bastard here with a stretch.

And the nerves are all aflutter, this morning's flutter—won't you suddenly become tomorrow the very one they're executing?

We live unstably, three days on foot here, and one in a carriage.

And hearing of a new ban and a new ban and a new ban

We darken like Pripyat, whether we're delirious or we see that the world around us has gone mad

The black anorak blended with the darkness. The news in your head is clearly not helpful, that's why you're sitting there, hammering away at the shells.

They've pulled you in like into the depths of a swamp.

These thoughts, so it will be, and alive as long as it lasts.

Somewhere inside, the same dialogue continues without stopping for a second.

Do you hear the sad saxophone weep?

The wind sadly whirls the leaves, like a record in a waltz.

But I sit myself down, next to me at the table set,

Today I have the most serious conversation with myself.

My pocket hands are empty, I came to speak,

And I know that you, like me, are tired of the war.

Show me, show me all my cards on the table.

And you put yours down so I can see.