Гуру Песенamazarashi - Taxi Driver | Текст песни
Packed in tight with the family, sweat stains on a shirt dirty the pictured saint.
With a somber look in his eyes, a young man buys a tow rope.
Fully intent to hang himself from the ceiling fan in his own home.
The suburbs are like a city that can’t make up its mind.
I still hang out and drink with friends from my hometown.
I lie about how happy I am as I struggle to catch my breath.
The blue of the clear blue sky is so deep that it’s turned black.
Taxi driver, anguishing over human nature, playing a hit song of a life clouded by their sighs.
In a cab on Fourth Avenue, about to blackout as I moan about life.
I don’t care if I’m not politically correct. I need to get this off my chest.
The darkness in my throat keeps swallowing down my destination.
Feels like I’m about to throw up everything that I don’t want to.
Taxi driver, take me to the place that lies at night’s end.
A pregnant woman stood horrified near a train’s priority seating.
You could tell how furious she was, but she kept quiet anyway.
An office worker sat glued to his phone, screen plastered in pornography.
A snapshot of social awkwardness in a passenger car.
Over the radio in the taxicab, I heard about a terrorist attack and his message in a country far, far away.
From above, the high-rise buildings in Roppongi give me the creeps.
Materialism permeates Tokyo and becomes its linchpin.
Taxi driver, won’t you open up the trunk for me?
We’ve got so much baggage that we can hardly walk.
The city looks much too gaudy as it races past me.
All of our happiness withers of its own accord.
I work up a sweat just for one ounce of joy, so I think I’ll leave the drive home to someone else.
Taxi driver, take me to the place that lies at night’s end.
Trouble in the news today; photos of corpses all over the internet.
Once we start ignoring everyone else’s pain, we might as well be demons.
There are those who alienate others in the name of tolerance.
There are those blissfully ignorant to violence in the name of pacifism.
You have to be a good person before you can turn into a bad one.
You have to have a home before you can head out on your own.
Mr. Driver, you’re the greatest thinker I’ve ever met.
A thinker who earned his philosophy degree on the road.
Taxi driver, won’t you roll down the window for me?
Let out the old air and let in the summer winds.
The road to my prospects and future is hard to see. But I won’t surrender my life to anxiety.
I can’t help but wonder how long this tunnel stretches on for.
At least take me as far down it as you possibly can.
Taxi driver, take me to the place that lies at night’s end.
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