Текст песни
Night again, the city sleeps, but I’m awake,
In the rearview mirror – a stranger’s face, I don’t recognize it.
Twenty-seven. Feels like an eternity, but just a number.
Every day – a new fight, and I’m already so used to it.
The steering wheel in my hands, asphalt under the tires – my only friend.
A path into the unknown, a vicious cycle.
Worn out. Like an old battery, almost at zero,
Searching for a spark to ignite me in this darkness.
And I’m driving, driving, driving, where to – I don’t even know.
Lights flash past the window, I don’t notice them.
Sleepless nights, like wounds on my soul,
Searching for something important, but I don’t know where it is.
Twenty-seven. Time to let go, to trim away the excess.
I’m tired of questions, I just want to breathe.
Someone’s writing a new chapter and living without deep scars.
And I’m driving, driving, driving, towards the wave.
Isn’t it too late to trust fate?
I remember dreaming of so much, of vivid stories,
Of how I could do anything, that everything would be in my reality.
And now – only exhaustion, and thoughts of how to live on?
On the dashboard – forgotten time, no chance of recovery.
Every turn – like a new choice, a chance in the moment,
But I’m back on the shoulder, in this strange gloss.
Among shadows and reflections, in the silence of cars (empty streets),
I’m trying to figure out who I am, and why I’m alone.
And I’m driving, driving, driving, where to – I don’t even know.
Lights flash past the window, I don’t notice them.
Sleepless nights, like wounds on my soul,
Searching for something important, but I don’t know where it is.
Twenty-seven. Time to let go, to trim away the excess.
I’m tired of questions, I just want to breathe.
Someone’s writing a new chapter and living without deep scars.
And I’m driving, driving, driving, towards the wave.
Isn’t it too late to trust fate?
(Or just fuck it all?)
Maybe at this age, it’s not important to find the answer,
But just to keep searching, not giving up, no.
Maybe it’s important to feel that you’re still alive,
Even if you have no strength left, and you’re almost gone.
This road – is my confession, my soul’s cry, and where time doesn’t rush.
And I’m driving, driving, driving, where to – I don’t even know.
Lights flash past the window, I don’t notice them.
Sleepless nights, like wounds on my soul,
Searching for something important, but I don’t know where it is.
Twenty-seven. Time to let go, to trim away the excess.
I’m tired of questions, I just want to breathe.
Someone’s writing a new chapter and living without deep scars.
And I’m driving, driving, driving, towards the wave.
Isn’t it too late to trust fate?
Twenty-seven… and on the shoulder…
But I’m driving… I’m driving…
Still driving…
