ГРОТ feat. VLNY - ПРЕДРАССВЕТНАЯ - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

A matchstick flickers in the kitchen at night,

The world, hidden in the palms, is visible from afar,

Let it burn your fingers, but never fade,

Like an echo of earthly love.

When we are discovered in old photographs

Those at a crossroads with lost meaning,

On the back there will be three words: what is needed

"Dream, love, and create."

I pity that world, where happiness could be earned.

A conscientious worker would take a bag of happiness by the weight.

Happiness would become, like salt and pepper, just a seasoning for us,

We would never know that happiness is meant to be a skill.

Happiness is a verb, unthinkable, but happiness requires skill.

Like a photographer, frozen in anticipation, able to see the moment.

To read happiness, we need a special language. You thought you were defeated, not noticing the first-place prize in your hands.

Where do they teach such a hyper-sensitive observation of reality?

Has anyone in the world yet thought of opening an academy for happiness?

It might be a bit ungodly, but it's still possible.

Artists, for example, study at an art institute.

I absorbed every skill ever generated.

With my eyes tied to a rope, I lazily juggled knives.

I was trained in everything in the world, but I suffered with the same intensity.

It turned out that happiness isn't a skill, it's a gift after all.

A flame on a match, at night in the kitchen, the world hidden in the palms of your hands is visible from afar.

Let it burn your fingers, but never go out, like the echo of earthly love. When those at a crossroads with lost meaning discover us in old photographs,

On the back there will be three words: "Dream, love, and create."

The world spins, good and evil, a spark between them,

And happiness will be found as soon as you stop looking for it.

That happiness is a narcissistic woman with a wildly inflated ego,

But only the one who has never chased her will ever sink into her heart.

And everything is reversed, heaven and earth have swapped roles,

And everything learned before now doesn't quench my thirst.

I took this world by storm, with sweat and blood, like a true warrior,

But the world ended up at the feet of one who is quietly in love and calm. On the sleepy coast, only seagulls and the summer sun,

And I saw myself differently, as if I didn't know myself,

As if, hiding myself from myself, I had found the backstage for the first time,

As if an adult, lost, had found his childhood letters.

I so expected happiness from life, every morning anew,

While life, looking back, expected the same.

I waited for the weather by the sea, and everything matched my expectations,

For from now on, I will begin to accept any weather as a gift.

Happiness is fragile, like a flame on a match, sheltered in the palms,

And I, like a fire-giver, pray that the wind won't touch it,

But the flame died out for a time, and I realized that with the same rapture

I will meet sadness and sorrow, immerse myself in them, and let them be lived. A flame on a match, at night in the kitchen, the world hidden in the palms of your hands, visible from afar,

Let it burn your fingers, but never fade, like an echo of earthly love.

When those at a crossroads with lost meaning discover us in old photographs,

On the back there will be three words: "Dream, love, and create."