Yotsuya Kaidan - The Grapes Of Wrath
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Yotsuya Kaidan - The Grapes Of Wrath - оригинальный текст песни, перевод, видео
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Пятница. Но тебе уже давно все равно. Пока другие суетливо собираются на вечеринки или в бары, ты просто исписываешь листы текстами или рисунками. Это твоя душевная терапия.
Поток дней смешался в одно сплошное и нелепое болото. Просыпаясь в четырёх ненавистных стенах, за которыми слышны ссоры тех, кто на публике старается изобразить идеальную пару или счастливую семью. Тебя тошнит от людей, тебе некомфортно в любой компании. Чувствуя себя белой вороной, даже среди якобы похожих, ты всегда спешишь удалиться. У тебя нет друзей, ты истерзан таким сильным одиночеством, что порой шум в ушах нарастает и не даёт тебе уснуть. Часто ты лежишь в кровати до утра не сомкнувши глаз, по скулам стекает струйка соленых слез, увлажняя подушку. Тебе чудовищно обидно за упущенные возможности, и ты прокручиваешь самые болезненные моменты своей жизни, зачем-то мучая себя. Тебе неприятна собственная лень, порождённая внутренним отторжением общества и нежеланием взаимодействовать с ним в любой форме. Все, кто когда-то были рядом и хоть что-то значат, уже давно вычеркнули твоё имя из записных книжек и тебя самого из своей жизни. И ты не винишь их, ведь это и правда трудно - поддерживать человека, который сам разрушает себя.
Но ты в какой-то степени даже рад тому, что окружающий мир совершенно чужд. Ты давно мог сломаться, но внутри тебя есть крепкий каркас, который даёт тебе стимул существовать, вдохновляя на очередной вечер с ручкой и блокнотом. Нервные линии, наслаиваясь друг на друга, превращаются в портрет, под рисунком небрежным почерком ты выводишь пару предложений, и тебе становится чуточку легче.
__________________________
Где ты? С кем ты? Помнишь ли ты про меня?
Я срываю гроздья гнева и отравляю тебя.
Friday. But you don't care for a long time. While others are fussy gathering for parties or bars, you just write sheets with texts or drawings. This is your spiritual therapy.
The flow of days mixed in one continuous and ridiculous swamp. Waking up in four hated walls, behind which quarrels of those who are trying in public are trying to portray the perfect couple or a happy family. You are sick of people, you are uncomfortable in any company. Feeling like a white sheep, even among supposedly similar ones, you are always in a hurry to leave. You have no friends, you are tormented by such a strong loneliness that sometimes the noise in your ears grows and does not let you fall asleep. Often you lie in the bed until the morning, without closing your eyes, a stream of salted tears flowing down the cheekbones, moisturizing the pillow. You are monstrously insulting for the missed opportunities, and you scroll through the most painful moments of your life, for some reason tormenting yourself. You are unpleasant for your own laziness, generated by internal rejection of society and unwillingness to interact with it in any form. Everyone who was once nearby and at least mean something has long crossed out your name from notebooks and you from your life. And you do not blame them, because it is really difficult to maintain a person who destroys himself.
But you are to some extent even glad that the world around us is completely alien. You could break for a long time, but inside you there is a strong frame that gives you an incentive to exist, inspiring for another evening with a pen and notebook. Nervous lines, layering on each other, turn into a portrait, under the pattern with a careless handwriting you will display a couple of sentences, and it becomes a little easier for you.
__________________________
Where are you? With whom you are? Do you remember about me?
I break the clusters of anger and poison you.
The flow of days mixed in one continuous and ridiculous swamp. Waking up in four hated walls, behind which quarrels of those who are trying in public are trying to portray the perfect couple or a happy family. You are sick of people, you are uncomfortable in any company. Feeling like a white sheep, even among supposedly similar ones, you are always in a hurry to leave. You have no friends, you are tormented by such a strong loneliness that sometimes the noise in your ears grows and does not let you fall asleep. Often you lie in the bed until the morning, without closing your eyes, a stream of salted tears flowing down the cheekbones, moisturizing the pillow. You are monstrously insulting for the missed opportunities, and you scroll through the most painful moments of your life, for some reason tormenting yourself. You are unpleasant for your own laziness, generated by internal rejection of society and unwillingness to interact with it in any form. Everyone who was once nearby and at least mean something has long crossed out your name from notebooks and you from your life. And you do not blame them, because it is really difficult to maintain a person who destroys himself.
But you are to some extent even glad that the world around us is completely alien. You could break for a long time, but inside you there is a strong frame that gives you an incentive to exist, inspiring for another evening with a pen and notebook. Nervous lines, layering on each other, turn into a portrait, under the pattern with a careless handwriting you will display a couple of sentences, and it becomes a little easier for you.
__________________________
Where are you? With whom you are? Do you remember about me?
I break the clusters of anger and poison you.
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