Faded to the grain
Can't hear the mumbling complaints
Where canons rust
Swim against the current with trust
Running up hill
In the morning when waters are still
Ropes are cut
Unclear patterns when eyes are shut
Стертый до основания
Не слышу жалобы и недовольства,
Там, где правила не важны,
Можно плыть против течения ни о чем не беспокоясь.
Взбираясь на гору,
В то утро, когда вода ещё стоит,
Веревки перерублены,
Неясные образы с закрытыми глазами
Faded to the grain
CAN'T HEAR THE MUMBLING COMPLAINTS
Where Canons Rust.
Swim Against The Current With TRUST
Running Up Hill
IN THE MORNING WHEN WATERS ARE STILL
Ropes Are Cut.
UNCLEAR PATTERNS WHEN EYES ARE SHUT
Erased to base
I do not hear complaints and discontent,
Where the rules are not important
You can sail against the current without worrying.
Climbing the mountain
That morning, when water is still worth
Ropes are dugged,
Unclear images with closed eyes