Tell your eyes not to cry.
I tired to fall, just let me die.
I’m happy when I‘m talking,
I’m bored when I sleep.
I hate this myself falling
In the end of memory.
Chorus:
I like the communication.
It’s not so sad.
I want my imagination
To make me mad.
I’m talking, I’m talking,
But I don’t know the sense of life
I’m hoping, I’m hoping, I’m hoping
That you won’t cry.
I’m broken from the centre of my heart.
I’m feeling, my death is not so far.
I’m looking for the any perfect child of light.
I’m sleeping. It’s getting colder there. I don’t know why..
Repeat chorus.
Весна 2003 года.
The Sense Of Life
© Copyright: Ушаков Илья, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105041400440
Свидетельство о публикации №105041400440
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