Singer: Ellie on a poppy field

I will not forget all the phrases I said, I'm sorry, but I'm sick of you.

You know
I'm so tired of stations...
Even though deep understand
It is better to let it be railway stations,
What is the city in which you are too few.
I seem again.
Dark; suffering, remember
About how I was with you dream of.
You know
I'm still so surprised
As everything in life is cyclical...
And for some reason I write you letters
But still not sending.
And the rain suggests to me again
About something unnecessary and personal.
Counting the minutes, trying to sleep.

You know
I love you so missing here.
I go again on the Avenue, swallow the advertising,
Passers-by, cars honking, but do not notice.
Hold and stumble again.
Better home on the tram
With you our favorite places.
You know
The weather here is not guess
All of this as casually -
Walks and thoughts, and poems on my knees.
I'm sorry, but I really miss her.
All worn before my eyes.
I must, I will, I know.
Back home, I'm trying to sleep.

I'm a complete moron, but the feelings you've absorbed,
And not overcome under the tap, not whipped.
They have acquired titanium ore and copper.
I write songs too. Specifically about this third.
Come Back, Arabella. Do you hear? I'm so tired.

I'm tired, Arabella. My house is not found comfort.
My house is empty without you, my house is without a roof,
When you're not. And I can't hear a damn -
Remarks or words. Don't feel if you hit.

I have tried to live with others - though not you!
Hundreds of them are. Beautiful, smart, comely,
But it's not. They are goddesses similar
And in my brain your head features.
Not those voices and hands, eyes empty.
She hugs gently, and disgusts me.
I closed their lips, kissing her paintings.
Then I leave and again looking for another.

I'm tired, Arabella. Yesterday promised snow.
Yesterday I smoked two packs, walked on the scheme
And something to read. Mercilessly stretched time.
Then I fell asleep. And saw you in my sleep.
Yesterday I was sitting, grimacing and laughing.
Yesterday I tore up your letters. Are you happy?
I was easy, then unbearably painful.
I again went to bars and doctors.

And after
Stood at the lifeless pier
Fearing to frighten away the silence,
While the sea, looking me in the eye,
About something loudly silent,
And the wind told the tale of puddles with an endless bottom.
My sand castles were destroyed.
Losing you I lost my only home.

What should I do
When all the inhabitants of my cities
Broken glass on the asphalt,
Finding this panacea
And the atonement of all sins.
What should I do
I don't have paper words
To describe the whole palette of endless void
What is stored in the backyard the memory of your empty grave
Where I twice a day wore faded flowers.

He is no longer able to see
Moving room.
With tears, so as not to give
Struggling eyes.
To come? Ask:
"What's wrong?" -
Just to anything.
Stupid words
Didn't help him.

People stood and cried
Crumpling the envelope.
One hundred steps of the escalator
Carried it upstairs.
Rose to columns,
To the audience, where light,
People of different inclined
Sailed from metro.
I saw the earth move
From under his feet.
Next sailed on the white set
Marble wreath.

You remained in memory only good.
Clean as parishes,
White like your sheets,
As milk,
As your skin and the smell of lemon muffins.
Like the picture of you laughing,
Buried in my shoulder,
And this laughter of the doomed,
Which here-here will collapse.
After all, you give all best
You're leaving me the best.
Not asking for anything in return.

Your hands are covered with affection, like a glaze covers with the love of the Baker gingerbread.
You're children's stories.
You're waiting for the feast in the plastic crowns.
That's all I remember. That's all I will keep you in my memory.

In your bedroom the sun has always been a little bit more than in Africa; tenderness more than the chocolate with the purple cow.