lyrics

Every Day

Ferry Of Morning Sun

Free As The Wind

Hello Morning

Every Day

Every day at the midday,
Whether it's scorching or gloomy,
She waits in the Chinese cafe'cross the way
Kidding and crying over the fortune cookies;
Fortune cookies we didn't break in past,
While accepting our helplessness.

Then we're gonna walk, gonna change the direction,
On pathways so public, yet fully unknown step by step.
On the edge again in our imagination.
Recollecting after the afternoon nap,
What did we go through in future,
Taking fatigue as is as usual.

Night sets it all on the bookcase shelves,
Between Prophetic Booksand tales of the Bible,
Tossing all these dreams like pointed shards,
Under our feet that are dancing on the tribal.
At morning, hangover with term of legality.
A separation of dream from reality.

But we're gonna walk, gonna change the direction…
On pathways so public, yet fully unknown step by step
On the edge again in our imagination.
Recollecting after the afternoon nap,
What did we go through in future,
Taking fatigue as is as usual.

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Ferry Of Morning Sun

Nothing else but this waste of time
Can remind of its price and rank
A ferryman in the rags and grime
Puts me across to another bank.

He'll leave me in the jungle
And only say goodbye,
The wild beasts will comb their buckle
They're awaiting under pitch black sky.

I'm on the trail in the foggy shroud
To visit domains of the suddenness.
I won't ever be lost in the crowd
On the road of my guiltlessness.

In an hour, in leopard's claws,
Or jaws of an alligator,
I will die, I don't fear, of course,
In the jungle, blessed by incense flatter.

I can see, and I have no fear.
At the full moon, I'm gazing.
I'm aware that the death is near,
But where it is, makes me amazing.

It's silent behind and stun.
Here it is, and I'm dodging.
And the ferry of morning sun
Is smiling to me and watching.

It takes me to the paradise.
The desired fruit is before me.
Here's a treasure before my eyes.
I pluck it and ignore the warning.

I want back, while I'm lying by the river end.
Half-buried in straws of desire.
Waiting for the ferry of the smashing hand.
(To set all my wishes on fire.)

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Free As The Wind

Who are you, without a name yet?
Where are you, if haven't said?
Puzzles are haven't done yet,
The alphabet within you head.

A thread of the horizon,
Glow of a burned-out star.
All these are in your eyes and
All these are things you are.

Winds in the trees and heather,
In sails and heights.
And in between the swallows' feather,
Cutting through endless skies.

I am just as free as the wind,
Just as long as
In this clear and horizonless field
I don't look for the past

If there's no expectation,
If there is no regret,
This will be your last station,
Either revived or dead.

No distance of the captures.
No cobwebs of your days.
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,
You're standing on your ways.

Winds in the trees and heather,
In sails and heights.
And in between the swallows feather,
Cutting through endless skies.

I am just as free as the wind,
Just as long as
In this clear and horizonless field
I don't look for the past.

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Hello Morning

Hello morning of my incinerated soul.
Gust of wind fanned the embers of my dream that's dissolved.
When the day was bright, the men came here to kill the hunger.
In the dead of the night, the animals came to get warmer.
The animals scared of the fire is a lie.

They like bathing in waves of the heat of my flames that dance,
Thinking, that I'm not disgusted by their permanence.
But the day burns the night's slowly fading to gray.
No more men with the animals fading away.
I have stayed here all alone as before.

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Hope

The hope deferred now /has made my heart sick,
She walks dejectedly, /sings sad tunes in /the notes of E minor,
She rattles dishes, /throwing out my old /kitchen sink,
She gets warm in my bed/under my sheets in /an early hour.

Inside my nightdreams, /our paths /are suddenly separating
Against our free will, /as determined by history,
Maybe, just to keep listening to /her when the day is breaking,
Now in notes of E major, /seek the sun /in the clouds of the mystery.

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I Wuz Here

I have run my finger on banisters of the stairway,
Once they used to surprise me, later they used to guide me,
Later they used to crutch me,
Transmitting momentum to my feet by their presence.

I have then taken my knife
scratching through their frowns like a painter.
"I wuz here," I have read on it later.
Remembering the time that's gone,
I have thought I was gone with that time alone.

I was walking downstairs, keeping clear
I wuz here
I wuz here
I wuz here

Riser blocks – back and forth,
Stopping points are the landings,
My dreams are apartment doors
Where my spleen is renting.
And the broken old vessel of genius,
As ancient as ghost and arsenious.
Look on my works and despair.
Heavy cigarette smokes mingle in the air
The walls in the silence will share reminders:

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Let Yourself Know

Do you see where the birds fly / looking for coming springs?
Do you hear what the wind says /with a new dream it brings?
Do you know why the flame lights /of the only candle in the world?
If you do, /please let me know. /Say at least a word.

Do you feel shyness mourning /to understand new things?
Do you believe the morning /hugging you with its wings?
Do you think skies feel sorry /for the tears they have shed?
Like they, I would not worry /of what lies ahead.

Do you want to see the moon /in the tides of sea fire*?
Do you mind where the shore's “near” /where the horizon's “far”?
Can you pull luck from abyss /by the luck of the draw?**
If you do, give your answers. /Let yourself know.

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Lucky One-Way Ticket

On paws of lone cloud, on the point of a cuddly toe,
By counterfeit visa and strictly incognito,
With no suitcase, with no thought, in low season
He hits the road nowhere with no rhyme or reason.
He don't mind fun parties, as far as he seems to,
But never in search of their existence.

He's over the rain and his usual peeves,
He eats what he has and he hardly sleeps.
He reads his tomorrow by the stars astray,
Casting cloud over all his present day.
Clouds are not aware of final courses.
The wind blows their way and the wind forces.

A tale is made a true story
If you are its character always.
Beneath the dust, vicious circle,
One day you will find your walkways.
Your walkways, your walkways, your walkways

A lucky one-way ticket for the road.
Awaiting this chance. In the chance, he's pro.
He's moved all that happens toward someone else.
No marshalling stations and no more cobwebs.
By curative North wind rough-cut, but uneven,
He seems to be mingled there in the heaven.

A tale is made a true story
If you are its character always.
Beneath the dust, vicious circle,
One day you will find your walkways.
Your walkways, your walkways, your walkways

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Reflectivity

It's distorted by a rock in a muddy puddle.
And bewinged by the wind in the cloudless muddle.
Is today's no better? Yesterday's go-getter?
How am I to mingle?.. Where am I to meddle?..
Reflectivity – Resistivity

Like a cockroach, long-dead in the wheat-bread,
Or an old-coined quarter to the 'Davy's Locker'.
With at least my memories if there are no ladders,
Climb down to my childhood, and whole enchilada.
Rediscovery – Full recovery

Like a purple blot between the verses.
Like the very one note, false and perversive.
Like a lonely dot in the elision.
Measure someone's lot with my own vision.

Like banana truck in my friend's ideas,
Bending granite rock in the eyes of my dear,
Like the second breath when the end is near,
Break this costly routine without a fear.
Soul tiredness – Solitariness
Flexibility – Treatability
Rediscovery – Full recovery
Reflectivity – Resistivity

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Road Dust

Summer has soothed all this silent thirst,
With rain of the fall, the first and the last.
The evening casts a deep shadows first
On the day-born only and endless lust.

Morning murmurs me its lullaby.
Night makes me sleepy, so deep and level.
The lonely wind covers footsteps, flying by,
With dust. Nothing lasts forever.

Tonight there's light in the sky again.
The stars, not alone in their privacy,
Stray thoughts in the comfort of brain,
Somewhere in an ancient prophecy.

The stones are silent with last year's warmth,
Silently, lucidly.
The lonely wind cools down the stones,
Sweeps them with dust, illusively.

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Unlock

He is lifeless through his desolation,
Lonesome desolation of the Lord,
Washing feet inside my mind's elation,
Setting out to hit his thorny road.

Breaking through the wilds of misconception,
Through the suffocating smog of doubt,
Seeking no-man's way of heart's reception,
Walks abandoned, desolated Lord.

Is this heart that beats, or anybody,
Tapping at the gate with timid knock,
With his feeble hand and wounded body?
He goes on: 'Un-lock. Un-lock. Un-lock.'

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Your Heart's Whisper

Where am I leaning to wild emotion?
What makes me grieving with a haughty notion?
Why am I throwing my heart, so thoughtless,
At feet of hoping that barely smolders?

What kind of a deadline?!
Forever may pop like a blister,
When stopping on this railway track line,
When listening to your heart's whisper.

A soaked-up boulder under a pine tree,
I hug a banner of the lost country.
The beach I'm sweeping is undiscovered,
The sky is leaping, it keeps me covered.

What kind of a deadline?!
Forever may pop like a blister,
When stopping on this railway track line,
When listening to your heart's whisper.

I'm not in good time, I am belated.
I'm like a wound, long lacerated.
A painful treatment or keep it swollen?
The salt I sprinkle on leaves that have fallen.

I know this language. My heart is warning:
“Leave all your languish, come on and warm up.”

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