Пикник - Египтянин

Пикник – Азбука Морзе

Пикник - У шамана три руки

Пикник - Театр Абсурда / Theatre of the Absurd

Пикник - Там, На Самом Краю Земли

Open Wound is not just a retro soul track—it’s a confessional hymn carved out of heartbreak, betrayal, and survival. It carries the weight of a personal story told in six verses and three refrains, each unfolding like chapters in a diary written in blood, ash, and fire.
This song begins in silence—the absence of a morning call, the cold fracture of friendship offered as a weapon rather than a gift. It moves through the blade of betrayal, the mirror of accusation, and into a requiem for a year lost in doubt and grief. Yet through this journey of scars and stolen trust, the music transforms pain into resilience.
Retro soul instrumentation drives the atmosphere: warm organ swells, dusty rhythm guitar, gospel-inspired harmonies, and a steady, heartbeat-like groove. The voice carries the raw edges of truth—sometimes breaking, sometimes soaring, always refusing to bow to the weight of loss. Every verse is a testimony. Every chorus is both a lament and a battle cry.
“Open Wound” speaks to anyone who has been cut down by silence, used for their worth, and then discarded. It asks: how do we carry on when trust is shattered? The answer is found here—in sound, in rhythm, in refusing to let pain silence the spirit.
This is a song of ashes and ember, where wounds remain open not as marks of defeat, but as sacred proof of survival. In its final vow, it becomes a gospel of resilience—an anthem for those who turn suffering into strength.

Lyrics:

[Verse I: Absent Morning Call] 
Morning broke in ghostly quiet, 
Your voice no longer stirred my dreams. 
You said, "Just read it all again,
" As if words could stitch these seams. 
You offered "friendship," cold and hollow, 
Then cut me off without a sound— 
Worse than any enemy's betrayal, 
Your silence shattered my ground.

[Verse II: The Blade of Friendship] 
You held my heart like bargaining gold, 
A "valuable resource" to deploy. 
You used my skills, then tossed me aside—
 Garbage in the wake of your joy. 
What friendship lives in empty echoes, 
In blocked lines and vanished care? 
You judged my tears as weakness, 
As if my grief was yours to spare.

[Verse III: Mirror of Accusation] 
You wept for jobs you couldn't keep, 
Yet fled when I wept for love you stole. 
You spoke of guilt you scarcely felt,
 And left me to reclaim my soul. 
What crime had I committed, 
To warrant your ruthless divide? 
You crushed my hope, then blamed me—
 As if my pain was yours to hide.

[Chorus IV: Requiem of the Lost Year] 
O witness to my broken faith, 
Hear this hymn of bitter grace— 
A year of nights in warded doubt, 
A soul laid bare in empty space. 
You forged my scars, then mocked my wounds, 
Abandoned kindness at your door— 
But from this wreckage I will rise, 
My heart unbowed, my spirit more.

[Verse V: Baptism in Ashes] 
I needed help to breathe again, 
Medication for each scar. 
You cried for losses of your own, 
Yet never bore the weight you are. 
I turned my pain to pulsing chords, 
Built music from my hollowed core— 
My only treasures: truth and tune, 
My only weapons: open door.

[Verse VI: Ember of Open Heart] 
You'll never close these wounds within me, 
Nor claim victory in my pain. 
You lit this fire, but I remain— 
Unbowed by tears, unflinching flame. 
I give you no more keys to enter, 
No shards of trust to break again—
 Yet still my heart, though pierced and bleeding, 
Stands open—unafraid of rain.

[Chorus VII: Final Testament] 
This is my gospel, this is my vow: 
To guard each note of agony— 
To sing my sorrow into strength, 
And set my fractured spirit free. 
You thought you'd build my final tomb, 
Yet from these ashes I ascend— 
Open wound, eternal anthem, 
Where pain becomes my faithful friend.

Open Wound

Пикник - От - Кореи - До - Карелии

Не стальная игла, а грусть
Мне пробила сегодня грудь,
Оттолкнусь от земли и в путь,
Не забудь меня, не забудь. 

Уж не чудится ль это мне,
Это небо и дождь в окне?
Жаль, не греет в пути звезда,
Нарисована, что ли? Да.

Пусть же ветер мотает, пусть,
Сам не знаю, за что держусь.
Жаль, не светит в пути звезда,
Нарисована, видно. Да.

Говоришь: «Подожди, вот-вот,
Солнце на небе да взойдет».
Только если еще оно?
Да не все ли, не все ли равно?

Не стальная игла, а грусть
Мне пробила сегодня грудь,
Оттолкнусь от земли и в путь,
Не забудь меня, не забудь. 

Как случилось, что мир остыл,
Мир теней и дорог пустых?
Жаль не светит в пути звезда.
Нарисована что ли, 
Нарисована что ли? Да.

Пикник - Кукла с человеческим лицом

Man Di

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