Называется, "напишите о себе небольшой опус".
Ну я как всегда
Take a look on a rat race, my dear.
Hear me swallow and stare,
Unable to start.
This is me, a big brother watching it,
Little sick worlds bearing solitude,
Falling apart.
This is me, who is stuck in the airport, covered in ashes of life, never bloomed.
This is me, stoned in steel, stepping heavily right in my personal doom.
Painted in grey, sitting lonely under the dashboards, all scared and numb,
This is me, just some flesh to dissolve, when my business is done.
Winning a ticket to limelight and pregnant with words never told,
Playing the words, reading minds, never smooth to unfold.
Common sense is my religion, my prison and crime,
The only truth possible, twisted, and tainted, and rhymed.
You'll never imagine me kissing your children goodnight,
Or breathing euphoria, being a heart of a fight.
Me, happy and healthy in 50, all caring and wise,
Me, flirting, seducing, the one, you' would be compromised.
Keep on driving, my dear, get used to the cabbage and kings,
Fair play, smiling face - it's all wanted in such kind of things.
Girls get lost in the airports, wandering, crying and lost,
Turning into the one you are speaking to:
Hopeless and aimless,
Sharp, heavy, blunt,
Misbelieving and lonely,
Crashing the planes,
Mind in chains
- that's the cost.