I feel the rain like he is assimilating my skin
I feel the earth just so near like it's a part of my wounds
I feel the sand like grains of sand are mixing with my blood
I feel the city, he is living in, in my every step
I feel the sky like it is a shrinking part of my breath
I feel the wind just because of that I have a daily gooseflesh
I feel the water, it is interpenetrating my feet
I feel the city, he is living in, in my every step
That's not the point that I've got a problem with my head
That I'm going mad, no I'm not going mad
That's not the point that I'm a prophet or I know a holy truth
It's really simple: the point is that I've just got a hole in my shoe
I feel fine, when I scribble my minds, when I'm grumbling some kind of revelation
I feel rage against revenge-seeking pedestrians, against the stultifying vacation and moral degradation
I hate traffics, change of voltage, and hate Mondays as well as songs by Bob Geldof
As well as tips to update my wetware, as well as f*cking blogs and social networks
I'm trying to think about the things I really love, about the things, which could be precious for me
I like my coffee in a subway, like my sweater and my wallet, I like grave yards and I like dead trees.
And yes, I really love 10247, I like these stones under my feet
That's not the point that I've got a problem with my head
That I'm going mad, no I'm not going mad
That's not the point that I'm a prophet or I know a holy truth
Oh, by the way darling, I I've forgotten to tell you: I'm not a freaky I've just got a hole in my shoe