ASATIANI, DZEP - UTOPIA - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Life keeps telling me: "Degrade."

But the writing isn't radio-friendly.

Everything around me is repulsive,

Yet it seems—adaptive.

I’m tactilely incomprehensible—

Go ahead, rate me however you like.

I’m going to drink your blood, baby—

No matter how you try to "cure" me.

Don't guarantee me love.

Everything around me is negative.

You’ll find someone else someday—

But only for the sake of appearances.

The coldness of the collective—

The parental apartment; fuck the alternative.

I never did find myself within myself.

Cheap alcohol hid my face, just like a hood.

I’m pouring it all onto this page—and not just for the "shorts."

Fuck the fancy clothes—it’s all a circus sideshow.

Yeah, I craved warmth, but these people just want a show.

Songs, memes, lyrics—I’m so damn confident in myself.

I’ve got the "Puss in Boots" eyes—but I’m unforgiving, like Efremov.

Damn, I’m all for reform—the kind that’s truly oppositional.

But once again, I kept my mouth shut about it—even on my own album.

Millions—I dream of them just like everyone else.

But the urge to move mountains—that won't ever leave these walls.

I’m treacherously wrong—yet inside, there’s nothing but laughter.

Yes, I give my all to you—but the *real* me isn't for everyone.

The winds of change—blowing toward their goddamn West.

A city built of problems—it has no room for the weak.

It’s not a "mentality"—it’s a circus, or maybe a theater.

There are no prices on the tickets—welcome to Hell.

I went all-in, like a stock market bet—but damn it, I needed to grow up.

There’s no grace in bullshit—and you can’t smooth over a guy like me.

"Family life" is just scenery—the hearth offers no warmth or shelter.

I believed right up to the end—yet, deep down, I never truly believed at all.

I’ve buried my grudges; now I’m killing off my weakness.

Time drags on like an ad-lib—a biography unfolding, verse after verse. With nothing but fucking profit in my eyes, I can't sleep even when I'm drunk.

If this is an industry, then why the fuck should I be the product?

He copied his idol—who, in turn, had copied *his* idol.

Just wait for the comeback to the underground; slowly but surely, we're steering back.

But what you’ve swiped from others—that’s what truly lies closest to your heart and soul.

My culture is barely breathing; I’m hooking it up to a ventilator.

They rummage through my dirty laundry, yet they don't grasp the meaning of my lyrics.

You know how to find me; I never change my address.

Like smoke drifting over a river, I never let myself touch that bitch.

I’m always flat broke—but when you are rich on the inside...

Then you have enough for everything, and you have enough of yourself to give to everyone.

No matter where the current swept me—yes, I *could* have done it, but I ran out of time.

Trying to be "good" and please everyone? People just don't go for that—not really.

But someday they’ll finally understand, and they’ll say: "The problem wasn't you."

My eyes burned like comets—fierce and independent.

You couldn't stomach their struggles—you were a "friend," sure, but a hypocrite.

Endure it, kid; it takes true strength to pretend to be weak...

Just so you can empower those...

Who can't even handle the truth.

(My truth—they can't handle *my* truth.)

Did you think I was finished? I’m the ghostwriter of the ellipsis—the story never ends.

A full-grown clown—and that’s the absolute truth.

I don't put stock in "feelings"—I’ve shown my ass before, and frankly, who gives a shit?

Just because I’ve flashed my ass doesn't mean I’m gay—again, who the fuck cares?

It’s pointless to think, and painful to believe...

Amidst these bleak, unceasing days...

Where, looking back, you can’t even see the shore.

My style is running a fever—and just like it, I’m feeling uncertain.

Yes, I’m feeling just as uncertain...

In this world ruled by opportunism, I’ve plastered on a Jim Carrey smile.

In my own little "happy world," there isn't a single unsold slot.

My soul strains toward the beats, cleansing itself—scrubbing itself clean, as if with baking soda. My mind is in order—it’s a matter of identity.

I don't think there's anything I couldn't handle, bro.

I toss it all aside and start fresh; I draw the curtain closed.

But more often, I’m smiling—it’s a "Happy World" for my plans, bitch.

My eyes are full of fire—and not because of some bonus paycheck.

Donations and advances—they can never replace the truth in my tracks.