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I'm tired
washed-out
I'm tired of being here
looking at the faded faces
still looking for one of the faces
in my mind it becomes faded
far more, more

goes farther and farther each day
more and more
and there is nothing
stand in the middle of the sidewalk
in the city or in a remote area
you look around and everything runs

and you are standing in a place
Don't move anything escapes
yours time it fly with the wind somewhere in the
back, back

waiting for him
despite the faded face
you know that it will meet
Do not even have a photo of wait

on an empty bench
no one comes so many things were on my head
ran so little to appreciate friend

I'm tired of memory
I'm tired of the lack of time
I'm tired of being here
I'm tired of the distance

and there was nothing left
there was nothing left
bouquet of 22 white roses
on the grave of his deposits

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