Conveyor

Street traffic carries us through the night
Along a tape of wet sticky light
You were a man - you are thrown away
You have become a mechanism of the prohibition system

Advertising on our faces, metal on our fingers
Erased patterns are reflected in the eyes
You whisper: “I didn’t recognize myself again”
All that remains is to decide: where am I and who are we with?

Here everyone is tested for love
For fear, for fatigue, for knowledge, for faith
And if you still have warm blood
It is used first for analysis

Dreams are produced in the workshops at night
Serialized, with a defect, without expiration date
They are glued to the walls of someone else's beauty
Where happiness hangs lonely

We were given roles, routes, keys
Instructions for a proper death
You want to leave, but the dispatcher is silent
We'll be cut out of the TV concert

I have a ticket for the last show in my pocket.
And the rails go in a distant circle
Love here is considered a system failure
And tenderness is a dangerous service