Вдыхаю

Laziness spread through my veins along with complacent calmness. There's no need to save the world - let it fend for itself. Smoke in my head, silence on the phone, ice with backlighting in my chest. And everything seems to be fine: you rest, breathe, live. But somewhere deep down, under layers of fatigue and the eternal “everything is under control,” that very heart that no one will find is still beating.

The song smells of sleepless nights and expensive idleness. Where there used to be ragged breathing from running around, now there is only a steady beat and the feeling that, yes, you can finally slow down. Although, to be honest, all this “resting” sounds suspiciously like “I just don't feel anything.”