Последний вальс в психушке

White coats are our new "haute couture",
Tonight’s menu: lithium and cheap surrealism, pure.
Hey, Mr. Doctor, you look like a corpse, you dub,
I invite you to join our exclusive club.
Bars on the windows play a barcode tune,
Look how beautifully rots the moon.
I have no tuxedo, just a straightjacket tight,
But I am the King here, and you’re just a mite.

Tick-tock.
Fire in the vein.
Tick-tock.
Divine domain.
Swallow!

Припев
This is the last waltz in the house of sorrow and lies!
Spin while you can, before the spirit dies.
One-two-three — we smash the mirrors,
One-two-three — dead are our years.
Dance on the broken glass, dance on the bones,
We are not patients, we are Gods on the thrones!



The orderly in the corner looks like Cerberus,
But I bribed him with silver (a gum wrapper, ha!).
Makeup is running like black resin,
Mom, look at the state I am in!
We spin in a vacuum, in the smell of chlorine,
Holy martyrs on hold, part of the machine.
Who said the music stopped? They lie!
It’s in my head, and it will never die.


They say: "Boy, you are sick."
They say: "You lost the trick."
BUT I AM THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO SEES THE COLORS!
IN THIS BLACK AND WHITE MOVIE ABOUT EMPTINESS!


Припев
This is the last waltz in the house of sorrow and lies!
Spin, bitch, spin, prove you're alive in their eyes!
One-two-three — the floor falls away,
One-two-three — I pull the trigger today (finger gun at temple).
Dance on the broken glass, 'til the light is dead,
In this madhouse, there is no way ahead!
No way out!


One... two...
Three.
Bow.
Curtain.