Текст песни Анданте - Прошлое

Past

In the dark pool the thread stretches the faith,
Forcing to forget that it's lost with pain ...
From the sky flakes of snow, melting on the body,
Snatches of someone else's memory ...
Bright flashes or dull - pastel,
Like bed nonsense, and the general flow
Overlapping, and then replacing each other
In a whisper of the phrase, not mine, but someone second ...
On the cheeks drops of mercury - tears of pain,
Bondage of the soul, they do not disappear ...
How much from bright memory to despair?
As many as before February from May ...
Thinking that the mind is over the senses,
Not believing in his lonely soul,
Immediately lose someone, moving in phase ...
At times with a cry or quietly, which is better?
Destiny then accidentally ...
The main thing is that good more than evil remains
And there is no way to agree to this,
So much dust on the way to our old age ...
Years bind people's fates tightly,
Slots of the soul filling up to vomit ...
Who are you, while in your soul is empty?
Only a man deprived of care ...

Chorus:
Slowly, confidence in the past is melting away
Such a vulgar, stuffy, complicated
So who are we with you? One to one?
Or just a shadow of the possible?
What will disturb us suddenly, on the way
What is eating us at the moment?
Sometimes the roads diverge ... And so ...
It is enough just a step of imprudence ...

There was no good - it seemed to me,
There was no evil, everything was dispersed, windy ...
The past is complex, it will remain in you,
As a prayer, reading, thinking, often ...
The heart remembers the past, lived through, gloomy!
Insults, forget, live on, enjoy,
Breathing in the wind, feeling cool, carefully ...
Remembering you and gliding along the edge of the knife ...
Flakes of snow fly, beautiful, but cold,
Has left its mark on the heart, the blizzard of the past ...
It is incurable, there is no medicine against the word,
She said, everything is sensible, I was shackled!
Hundreds of words were burned with fire,
Mist in my head, scraps of something old,
Absolutely familiar, of what he dreamed,
What he wanted, capturing a new memory ...
To be near a flying bird -
Prophetic dream or illusion - nostalgia ...
Trying to return, but the path is lost,
Leaving a trace, on canvas of palpitation ...
Trust in the past melts gradually,
Pulling the last forces and aspirations.
With the purpose of restoring, the pulse of acceleration,
I'm tormenting my soul, in the hope of continuing ...