Guns Out

It's about my comeback to Moscow after 7 years (badluck haha) of living in Canada.

Interpretational translation:

7 years (7 лет)

1.
7 years passed and so much water had flown away
i couldn't start from the beginnig but i'm back in my home port
and all these endless days, uncounted waitings, 24/7 and i'd given up so many times
permanent boredom from life poor on feedback which slowly put down
sources of my impulses; strength
was left only for hope
that something changes and gets back like it used to be
meanwhile i'm in between
burden of the lost years' regrets and lack of faith; ashes
of wasted time, and emptiness takes over in my heart as desert
how come they left me, killed by destiny strikes, died dreams; soul
is in open wounds and old scars
is there really no chance for revanche?!

2.
what happens next?
will i be able to catch up, being older for the quarter of my life?
the let-go past sometimes comes back within my night dreams
what's lived its time trough forever gone in oblivion
i won't betray what was i'm given and give away what's not mine
and history cannot be rewritten
i didn't notice before loss so no i see in the different way
in usual small things i discover my town again
inner city people sea, fall is burning down by falling leafs
chimes knock by the square and clock is going counterclockwise
the skin of immigrant is dropped and left behind

chorus:
this is my day
walls can't hold the sunshine
after dark calmness the system gets reloaded
light and shade play, toward my side overscale
now and here on the old-new place
contact ignites
this is my day
time slows down its run
vision is catching every micromotion
observation of vitality in 4D
the worls is spinning faster

Guns Out

MadSCORP1

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