Текст песни Abstractia - 3 Years Later

After three years of heavy silence,
I stood before the staff—a mix of despair and desire.
I created without taste, without any style at all,
But now they jab me in the back, claiming I was once powerless.
I’m fed up; my sniveling lyrics can go fuck themselves.
Whose ashes are in that envelope? The old woman’s prophecy was ambiguous.
Everyone whispered behind my back: "No artistic growth."
But how much higher could I grow? Even Ilizarov couldn't help me.
Like a cloud of dust rising from the roadside onto a gun barrel—
You’d drop to your knees fast enough if a barrel were pointed at you.
There’s a longer fairy tale hidden in the wilds of democracy;
I’m no Brothers Grimm, and certainly no Strugatskys.
It will burn like a massive flame, bright and deep blue.
I shoveled through shit with a spoon, hovering over Miller’s fire—
My whole life has been like a horror movie or a thriller.
You wouldn't have survived it—just like all the others who went extinct.
AMG isn't Babylon; I didn't set out to build an empire.
I’m no Oxxxymiron, but I’ve had plenty of time.
I am incomparable; I offer you no easy parallels.
Look at me: I am both beauty and monstrosity.
Once again, the chill and the overcast skies; once again, up at dawn.
Through thorns to the stars I trudged—trudged on, a laughingstock.
Just before the hard-packed snow crust, a hasty prayer from three souls.
I’m no preacher to you, and I don’t play the shepherd.
Little houses in the capital—full of little gnomes.
Many of them are faggots—even if they aren't actually gay.
But they can tear you apart—don't stick your finger in there, seriously.
Where were you all before—before I became an "ancestor"?
Fate is unfair. Resentment Toward the Creator
A boy has grown into a man, though he was raised without a father.
My confession is simple—offered here, without waiting for judgment.
I chose the darkness for myself; now fear consumes me.


Yet for now, we do not know what lies ahead.
And precisely for that reason, there is no fear—for there will be no falsehood.
Some might say that none of this is serious, that it isn't real—
Claiming I am too young to be writing about such things;
That it lacks style, lacks format, lacks maturity.
That my tracks are—well—not exactly legitimate.
Yes, I may lack talent, but I yearn to create, and so I do.
Even if I never gain recognition, I will still walk my path to the end.
Outside the window, domes and temples rise—
A procession of hopes, their finials crowned with crosses:
The attire of the ignorant. They will pay with bitter tears
He who was last shall become the first wolf in the pack
Dancing above the banner, verses above the code of law
A mockery sworn under oath—a puppet show
They keep lashing us with whips, trying to beat the truth out of us
Thirty years—a sentence served as penance for our debts
I will not nod in blind agreement
That which was eternal has ended up crucified upon a post
The empire has crumbled; amidst the ruins, we start anew
We will sign our names upon the walls raised high above the Reichstag

Vogel in my ears
Serving as my psychologist
15 kilometers on foot
If fools really do get lucky
Why am I such a fucking idiot?
Just like Wayne
A hundred times over
I lie to myself
I wanted to be alone
But then you appeared in my dreams
I’ve forgotten how to write about love
Then why did I burn all my poems?
I released a trilogy of dreams
Yet I still never learned how to fall asleep
The jar of cigarette butts has long since filled up
Oh, why don't I feel any lighter without you?
You don't even need to offer me anything
I have 13 reasons
To finally start speaking out