пятница, 11 февраля 2011 г.

The kid I was

the first time i ran away
i was eight
it was cold outside
and the snow fell
and me dressed in a shirt
ran for two blocks
and then got cought

the second time
it got really strange
i was fourteen and
got off the edge
i stuffed my sweatshirt
into a sack and went
to the raiway station
i thought i could catch
the evening train.
Northern direction.
but with no money
and being underage
i had to walk
and i reached the city border
and then returned

the third time i
didn't reall run
i've locked myself up
in my room
for three days in a row
and pulled my bed
against the door
so no one could come in
and i slept and read books
and stared at the box
the creepy soviet TV
i got my own
three days of freedom

the fourth time never came
exept the day i got this band
and we went South
to drink and play
the choice i made...

Это просто какая-то дикая жесть. Пятница пролетела. Как? "O'kay, so, well" и через восемь c половиной часов "Au revoir". Лексикология жутко скушна, вот и ударился я в рефлексию.

Скоро справлять насильное новоселье. Сволочи. Блядь...

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