Страница Дмитрия Ичанова ВКонтакте

Policemen swear to god, Love's seeping from the guns, I know my friends and I Would probably turn and run. If you get out of bed, Come find us heading for the bridge, Bring a stone, All the rage, My little dark age.

Breathing in the dark, Lying on its side, The ruins of the day Painted with a scar, And the more I straighten out, The less it wants to try, The feelings start to rot One wink at a time.

Picking through the cards, , Knowing what's nearby, The carvings on the face Say they find it hard, And the engine's failed again, All limits of disguise, The humor's not the same Coming from denial.

Oh, I grieve in stereo, The stereo sounds strange, I know that if you hide, It doesn't go away. If you get out of bed And find me standing all alone Open-eyed, Burn the page, My little dark age.

Oh, Forgiving who you are

Giddy with delight,
Seeing what's to come,
The image of the dead,
Dead ends in my mind.