Fresh and Decayed


So since I didn’t go to the mountains.
And since I should work for my “referat”.
Ans since Hannah borrowed her guitar.
And since Pauliina ask me about music.

I played guitar after a long while.
Decided to use the “poem” I made as a lyrics.

Recorded it and doubled it.
Again not really polished but hey…

Time ago, St peter


I’m sitting on the bench close to a railwaystation, in kind of a park, or square, but a small one.
You’re inside, buying or changing the ticket. I don’t know, or remember.

Sitting on the bench, watching people, passing, moving on. some sitting on other benches.

Young woman walks through. She has somehow deformed legs, but she’s wearing high heels.
And I want to…
I want to…
Tell that she’s beautiful..
No, first I want to tell her not to wear those stupid high heels.
And then I think who am I to tell her that, we all want to be beautiful. And this is russia, women, beautiful women wear high heels. And she has every right to, even if it seem to make her walking even more difficult or painful.
And I can’t pity her, because pity does nothing.

There’s so many crossing emotions through me, so many wants and eventually being so helpless to do anything that could change anything. I feel tears swelling in my eyes.

I want to tell her that she’s beautiful
I want to tell her that she’s beautiful
I want to tell her that she’s beautiful

Tears running on my cheeks…