Cloudy night behind my window Dancing raindrops on my roof Tired priest and silly widows Whisper Gossip about nothing in my room
So there is no place for me to visit And there is nothing and no one to cry I scream: Oh, God! I’m your bad seed Put copper coins on my eyes
Blurred faces and unimportant actions My life consists only of this There is no point, no aim, no direction To go And there is nothing and no one to miss
Branches of dead wood are broken It means that nothing is real I smile and man In a black smoking Sing a song on my funeral
(с) Кейт Старлинг
Однажды ты осознаешь, что прожитая бессмысленная вереница мгновений настолько уныла и разбазарена по пустякам, что смерть представляется чем-то гораздо более увлекательным.