Текст песни R1Fmabes, Антон Ami feat. LeanJe - Исповедь

R1Fmabes:

How many tracks drowned in drink? How many checks blown away? How many questions asking, "Why?"
How many of them believe blindly? How many "don't believe at all"?
How many things exist for people? And how many people exist for things?
Give me a precise answer.

Mysticism in the bong again; lines of verse, once more, as a guiding principle.
Every worn-out moment captured in this stack of pages is a hundred times more intense than life itself—
Certainly more intense than *my* life. It’s a stuffy loft, but inside lies the "ultimate high."
The place where, on a dull afternoon, she and I watched snowflakes drift down "into pools of blood"...

"I’m sick, too"—afflicted by spiritual blindness and "bruised of heart." Quench my burning fervor with "childhood tears"!
I’m getting off the ride right here, and in the silence, I sing them "somber songs."
"To my credit," happiness here won't suddenly "jump out of a cake"; I’m not on their "Billboard" charts—
Not while hanging by a thread hasn't yet become an "Olympic sport."

This is my "run," this is my "dope," this is my "crisis."
It is both my "goal" and my "duty," but it is not "business."
A whole world stands before the mic; I close my eyes and leap "into the beat on faith!"
Let these games have gone too far—even further than the days of "needles in the veins."

We are truly real here, as long as our raw emotions spill "right through the screen."
As long as we dissolve the faces of strangers in that black abyss "beyond the windowpane."
How do I know them all? They climb into my soul "as if it were a climbing wall."
Frost will eventually coat my home, but this biting cold—it hasn't been "the first time" for a long while now.

Leanje:

I know everyone, yet I do not know myself.
I know everyone—though I would have preferred not to.
My thoughts, like drifting mists, beckon to me so strongly...
But it is already too late to change anything now. Anton Ami:

I feel like I’ve been writing these songs since the very moment I was born.
I wanted to win, so I learned to accept defeat.
My relationships are a collar in the hands of a jerk and a slacker.
They’d look for me last—without a shred of doubt; the road from fool to genius is a long one.

How to destroy the whole world? — Not my thing.
How to destroy *everything* in an instant? — That’s where you come to me.
For years I searched for a path, only to end up losing the trail completely.
Hand me a suitcase—but what for?
This journey makes no provisions for an overnight stay.
The choice of how the movie plays out is yours; and if it’s love—then show it while the person is still alive.

A shitty son, and an even worse father.
But I blame myself for this: having squandered two childhoods within the span of a single life.
To return to the stairwells... To put the cross back where it belongs.
And let my heart sing this song one last time—on its final, fading breath.

It’s not so much sadness on my face as it is the mark of a scoundrel.
I simply walked out of school—and just as easily ran away from the wedding altar.
Apparently, my aim is off—seeing as I’ve long since fallen out of the Creator’s crosshairs.
I’m searching for a shop labeled "Purpose"—tearing the price tags off my own kinships along the way.

Chorus.