We pass through the night and on the road, the beginning of which we no longer remember
and we no longer care what our destination is and anything else
besides speed, the red car is nothing for us anymore.
Dark blue sky and stars. Trees become pollution.
Give üks cigarette,-Take it. No more words are needed.
Open üks bottle,-Yes, immediately. That's the end of the story.
The music is playing and this feeling and pain is familiar from somewhere.
Memory. Longing. The agonizing cry has long since ended.
Still, we don't have time, although it's not in a hurry
to get out somewhere - I'd better answer: No know.
Get out of nowhere - we don't have the courage to do that.
White lines of asphalt. The last lines of highways.
Open the next bottle, light the next smoke.
Bricks and empty bags, broken glass on the way
are still behind us today. Music plays and accompanies us,
those who walk after us and those who walked before us...

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