Days

i hate books i hate films
for those hopes that they give
life is much more plane
there is no aim
there is no masterplan

it wasn`t long time ago
when i started to feel as it goes
night it wash`s me clean
morning dries my hairs
and days just leave dirt on me

sick and tired of thoughts
of how i`ll get over again
`cause i`ll get over again
but i don`t want to
`cause i don`t know what for

it wasn`t long time ago
when i stopped marking the trees
i stopped naming the days
i stopped memorizing their eyes
and i stopped breathing as well

because of vapour that comes out
of my dirty mouth
in this clean cold air
and i`m afraid that someday
you can breath it in
and you could breath it in

everything`s right it never was wrong
no need to change your mind
put on your headphones
lift up your eyes when the chorus begins
we make up our lives
of books and films

and the windmill of days
is grinding us still

i`m afraid of the ghosts
at all the time for the most
they chasing me on the streets
and in cafe taking seats
i make believe i don`t
don`t believe in it

it wasn`t long time ago
when i started to feel as it goes
night it wash`s me clean
morning dries my hairs
and days just leave dirt on me

we make up our lives
of books and films

and the windmill of days
is grinding us still