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П​у​с​т​о​й с​о​б​о​й

from Н​о​р​м​а​л​ь​н​ы​й ч​е​л​о​в​е​к by Vuara

/

lyrics

В затхлых сумерках себя
я порван на два я, на две руки.
Одна рука без пальцев,
другая вовсе не моя.
Глаза мои слепы,
один глаз от света,
другой от тьмы.
И смысл вечно ждёт свое там,
где я горло себе перерезал
нитью из остатков воли.
Я земля холодная - самого себя земля.
Я смертен, но не так же как и я.
Я пуст для голодного - тебя.
Но полон пустотой самого себя.
В нищете голоса - каждый,
наполнен засохшей травой,
что тлеет немой надеждой,
но не станет однажды огнём.
Не станет однажды огнём.
Но не станет однажды огнём.


____________________________

Empty by myself

In the musty twilight of myself, I am torn into two selves, into two hands.

One hand has no fingers, the other one is not even mine.
My eyes are blind, one eye because of the light, the other one because of the darkness.

And the meaning is always waiting for its own
there where I have cut my throat with a thread from the remnants of the will.

I am the cold ground - the ground of myself
I am mortal, but not in the same way as me.
I am empty for the hungry - you,
but full of the emptiness of myself.

In the poverty of the voice - everyone is filled with dried grass that smolders with mute hope,
but will never become fire. Will never become fire. But will never become fire.

credits

from Н​о​р​м​а​л​ь​н​ы​й ч​е​л​о​в​е​к, released October 28, 2022

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Vuara Petrozavodsk, Russia

A clot of dark and chaotic sound straight from the belly of Karelian swamps, escaping from the throat with a cry of socio-political longing.

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