Slowly mending old wounds. Is a burden to the sunken child I lifted and carried. Lifted and carried off to the stone hearts of the angry son, who now stands before you. Angry son who has done his swallowing, 21 years worth of bitten pills. Bitten pills he's collected like the falling pieces of broken ground which he now moves on. My ground so unsettled, the feet are ... sunken arrow. Still he moves on, pay no attention to...(?) There's not the stolen land, there's not the stolen land that makes me angry. It's the smile that I stole. How could you look upon the sky and say that you own the sky? How could you stand upon land and say that you own the land?
We say(?)... stolen smile
All these effortless moments we've spent, are waiting our moments in gravity. ...from a heavenly(?) new ingredient. But still I move on. This is not my land This is not mine This is not mine
Effortlessly angels sigh. And I stand and I am not moving. And I stand right here and I am not moving. Look me in they eye when you say that father, look me in the eye when you say that. How could you look upon a midnight sky and say the you own the midnight sky? ... beutiful... And I can look upon the shadow...(?) Look at you father, collecting your prizes. Your objects of your desire(?) Look at you father, neglect our mother, remember every word you said father.
the...house that's burned to the ground. In the name of your dollar bill father I remember every word you said father. Where is our mother father. Standing silently, trembling. I remember every word you said father, I remember every word you said As I stand now I am the Angry Son, ... angry son father. I remember every word you said father, every word.
Every word you said father, they go through my head. ... mother Your many names father, your many names. Sexism, racism, ephisism(?). Your many names father that we know you by. Mother stands trembled(?), mother stands lying on the ground bleeding. Where are you father? But I am here father, I am the angry son.
How could you stand here father How could you stand here father THIS IS THE MOMENT...
I am the angry son. I am the angry son. I am the angry son. I am the angry son.
How could you say, it’s nothing I am the angry son, I am the angry son.
How can you say that it’s nothing How can you say that it’s nothing I am the angry son, I am the angry son.
How can you say that it’s nothing How can you say that it’s nothing I am the angry son, I am the angry son.
How can you say, it’s nothing father How can you say, it’s nothing father, How can you say, it’s nothing father, I am the angry son.
"тебя люблю....искренне...люблю без всей этой бестолковой показухи. ..люблю тебя без слов типа котенок или малыш. люблю тебя тихонько...как бы про себя... без сердечек на твоей стенке...без остального пафоса."
Лежит ребёночек- калека, без ручек без ножек, и спрашивает у мамы: -Мам, а почему у меня нету ручек иножек, как у всех детей? Мама отвечает: - А ты ложись спать, и наутро у тебя выростут и ручки и ножки, и будеш ты как все детки. Ребёнок в надежде стать нормальным, лёг спать. На утро просыпаетса ,а ни ножки, ни ручки у него не выросли. -Мамочка, ты же обещала, почему я таким и остался? Мама: - Гы гы, с 1 апреля, калека ебаная!
каждый раз когда я докуриваю очередную пачку, держась за сердце, стоя на лестничной клетке, я думаю о том, что это будет последняя пачка...что я наконец брошу. первый раз я сказал это себе примерно год назад. сколько я еще выкурил пачек с того дня? 100? 1000? пиздец. я не могу понять, какой смысл в этих тупых палочках набитых вонючей травой, которая превращает наши рты в пасти. но... я не могу жить без них.