BOOSTER feat. EVTA - Реквием по мечте - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I didn't know how to start, but I'll begin with what matters most.

My head feels as if it’s melting down into a hundred fragments.

There’s danger in every clip; music—my destiny’s gift to me.

Like armor-piercing rounds, my dreams strike deep into the dead zone.

I hate people; I sweat it out seven days a week.

I retreated into the shadows—yet even there, I remain lost.

It’s time to stick to the plan, to stay the course toward the intended goal.

But these lyrics stray off-topic; my pencil feels like a loose cannon.

Like cannon fodder on the stage, pain transforms into a price tag.

Do you want to stop merely listening, and start believing? I don't need your faith.

A requiem—a new model, a background track for the grave.

I've been hooked on hip-hop doses since I was thirteen.

You look at how I'm dressed; you judge me by the little things.

And even if my dream is on its deathbed, I won't go running to the doctors.

As long as the candle burns in the night, I'll keep broadcasting—

On every frequency; you damn well better be with us!

Now a choice must be made—and it won't be easy—

To detach myself from this world of illusions and dreams,

To bury my vision beneath a layer of dusty lyrics.

And so, we all grow up once more, free from our former chains.

My soul, unhurriedly, wandered down a crooked path.

People tried to rouse the beast within—but he remains chained up.

I am, after all, far better than those rats who offered me a label—

Who offered me a crew, trading loyalty for cash and lies.

I'm too pissed off right now; online or off—go screw yourself, kid.

Don't claim we're friends; I don't even know you.

Drowning in depression, all I feel is shock; these clichés aren't what I strove for.

The pack whispers amongst themselves, hoping the show will go on.

It's laughable—like D. Shawn without his vocals,

Like some R&B pretty boy who thinks his "rap" is just powdered fluff.

Flashback: I'm trapped in a nightmare, staring death in the face, and I don't know...

How long this requiem of mine will play out against the backdrop of memories.

Perhaps it was the right thing to do—to find my strength once again.

You live in a rose-colored world—streets, cribs, and apartments.

That's where *your* truth lies, you morons—but tell me: where did all the junkies surface from? I’ve come to understand too much, and now I’m climbing toward the summit.

Now a choice must be made—and it is no easy one—

To detach myself from this world of illusions and dreams,

To bury my own vision beneath a layer of dusty lyrics;

And so, we all grow up anew, free from our former chains.

Rap is mass-produced these days—alas, it is no longer art.

I long to be authentic, yet the "authentic" ones just piss themselves.

You’re a battle rapper who only battles with people’s mothers;

Go ahead—sugarcoat your drivel for the guys who don’t wear makeup.

Shall we debate sales figures? Or perhaps our true worth?

I may not have a penny to my name, but I’ve made peace with destiny.

The keys strike the beat—hold on a second, my friend;

My metronome is still ticking, and I’m only halfway there.

Echoes of old scenes, where some cretin screams that he’s number one;

I sit in confinement, observing the world from the inside out.

Don’t leave—you are witnessing a funeral.

Rap needs no Allah, no God, and certainly not you in shackles.

Rap is independent in its words; just toss out that pathetic verse of yours.

Rap needs only a soul—one willing to walk with it to the very end.

Kid, love your music; don’t let it die—

Not while your heart is still beating, and while you still have the voice to rhyme.

Now a choice must be made—and it is no easy one—

To detach myself from this world of illusions and dreams,

To bury my own vision beneath a layer of dusty lyrics;

And so, we all grow up anew, free from our former chains.