Post-Intelegencia

I don't hate you.
I wish I could say that I don't love you anymore. More - I wish, I didn't love you anymore.
My hands are down, my mouth is too full chocking on bile... otherwise I really want to tell you how I feel.
I don't grief for myself. No. I am just misarable to see that I can't restrain you for what you have done to "it". It was in both of us - you know it damn well.

I do blame you though.
Who knows how important that was - to keep it pretty.
And now - I'll just have to wear this torn coat, inside out.
and you - wipe the lipstick off your cheeks and forehead that stained your face from my good-buy kisses. And don't you dare to bring it up again. Although... it's not like you ever was concerned about me anyhow.
So just do whatever.
Whatever.





For you, tramp;
Dying in a dream, I often whisper about love,
But I trust in love, while she is far away.
Loneliness sleeps with me on my cool chest.
I lay, I smoke, I meditate. I see into the window.

Opa! Opa!
O where, o where are you, Europe?
I look thoughtfully at the window,
But it is boarded up.

Hey, victim of fire! Turn down your troublesome light.
How pitiful your shout is, however, how wise silence is.
You thirst for freedom, you drink, and you creep behind her.
You grieve, dear, but you don’t know how terrible this woman is.

Opa! Opa!
O where, o where are you, Europe?
I look thoughtfully at the window,
But it is boarded up.

At the word “kindly” I habitually feel stress.
Russia-beauty, you are gloomier than the plague.
I only trust in progress at the cemetery,
And I see that you are still far away from spring.

I know people, I’ve read about them all,
Only enlightenment and blood are able to change them.
The people wait for me, but I, unfortunately, am tired.
O, only please, you do not need to beat me.

Opa! Opa!
Broken glasses.
Opa! Opa!
I’ll burn away from depression.
-Yuri Shevchuk (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yuri_Shevchuk)