The sun never shines in Russia, and neither on me
Maybe it's just the way it's meant to be

It feels like life is my sentence, to live in vain
Just because I can't give up all my hate

I must go, I don't want it to be shown
I may act like a king, but agony is my invisble crown

Your face is beautiful, I wish I could touch
But then it would problably turn to dust

So don't let me temptate you, cause I'm pretty sure
I make filth from everything pure

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