Кумушки [Kumushki] [English translation]

Who told you

How to photograph candles in the bathroom

With your legs in the background,

To choose chandeliers,

So that they could match your curtains,

And to vigorously whip egg white with a fork?

Why are you so happy,

Who lied to you

That everything is okay?

Who taught you

To live like this, and to be so

Stupid and ridiculous?

A boy with a flower bouquet has done all the quests,

And is ringing the doorbell.

Very soon, you’ll be in total bliss

Very soon, he’ll be all yours.

The towers and roofs will be yours,

The phone is full of rhinestones.

The eighth one is bought, the ninth one isn’t out yet,

What should I do now?

New plans will come up soon,

Siri will write everything down obediently.

You need no one, nothing disturbs

Your little insta-soul.

Oh, godmothers, my dears, accept me!

You’ll be picking flowers for wreaths, take me with you!

Your wreaths were going down the river, and mine went down to the bottom.

Your guys returned back from the war, and mine didn’t make it…

My heart is a gray muscle, and yours are rosebuds.

Who told you all how to thrive in the flowerbeds made of car tires?

How to fit in, to cover yourself with documents,

With a bunch of useless acquaintances?

I’d work like hell, I’d give everything for such a narcosis!

I wanna dance in a bar to “Rape Me” cover and drink port.

Dance like mad, not even knowing it’s Kurt Cobain playing.

To feel oxygen in constantly disturbing smell of death,

To not even imagine, that such things are even possible,

Things like shooting into your own mouth.

Our lives are like posters,

Strictly following standards,

The future is all bright and pink.

It’s too late to pick me apart,

Godmothers, just

Teach me how to be happy…

Oh, godmothers, my dears, accept me!

You’ll be picking flowers for wreaths, take me with you!

Your wreaths were going down the river, and mine went down to the bottom.

Your guys returned back from the war, and mine didn’t make it…