Taco Hemingway - Frascati

Raindrops on my neck
I have a notebook hidden in my coat
Castle Square is already dead
I don't want to live in the past tense anymore
I walk through the dark New World
Even though it's old trash to me
I'll look into the vodka bar
Where every countertop is sticky
The bartender dressed like a doorman
The lines of dialogue are empty
And loneliness is a revolver
So I order myself a pipe
The butterfly in my stomach has become a larva
It eats into my soul and swells
I'm alone under a dark star
I don't recognize the face in the mirror

Chorus
The eyes of passersby glow like candles at night
A waking nightmare, sleepless streets
Where you wander again
You don't know where you're going
You write to me with drunken steps

When I go out into the street
I hear the screams of young people
They still believe in their own A mission
The world hasn't woken them up yet. I also wanted to change the system. And I had to give it up. Because today the world is just business. That one died and won't come back. South towards Wilcza. Crowds of people still at SPATIF. I don't have the strength for them today. I think I'll take a walk in Frascati. A new DM in my pocket. Then another one, free of charge. But she's not writing to me. After all, he's the addressee.

Chorus. The eyes of passersby glow like candles at night. A waking nightmare, sleepless streets. Where you wander again. You don't know where you're going. You write to me with drunken steps.

I'll check what's going on with the redhead. I reach for it in my pocket. "Piotrek, what's with the sweatshirt?" You're asking me for the hundredth time.
That one good friend of mine.
He gave me advice ages ago.
I could have listened to him, actually.
If you've been drinking, don't DM.
Some couple is on the slope.
Immersed in a kiss.
She wants to explain to the guy.
That he won't find salvation in her.
When she dumps him like a bad habit.
And leaves him on the pavement (Yeah?)
Let him get his sweatshirt back (Yeah)
Let him show a little rebellion.

Chorus.
The eyes of passersby glow like candles at night.
A waking nightmare, sleepless streets.
Where you wander again.
You don't know where you're going.
You walk drunk and text me.

You only live in my thoughts.
But how much longer will you last?

The conditions here are macabre.
Terribly stuffy, the space is small.
And the neighborhood is like Tyrmand.
Bathed in possessed whispers.
I no longer have the strength for the chase.
And this spectacle doesn't amuse me.
At the Three Crosses, near the church.
Saint Nepomucen leers.
As if waiting for my confession.
As if he wanted to teach me.
Before I drown completely.
Maybe he'll show me the way.
A cry rises from the whispers.
Someone is begging us for help.
Help!