Kostim [English translation]

1.str.

In one hand is a brandy, in the other one is a bromazepam, come on, take them together and you will have Marchelo´s mind.

Shine, lights of the stage, the echo of applause tails away--

sober but drowsy,I am staring again into the abyss of the darkness, where almost nothing breathes...

Dear guests,the stage -- that´s a costume.

And this darkness -- there are bones of vulnerable, ordinary people. I am your hero? Sorry. You believe just to this surface. There beneath -- it´s burning. There I am also confused, like a lot of people. There I´m trying to understand pain. I´m doing hard to bring my mind again to the rails of the common sense, bro, out of the shitty odor of the bottom.

What a lie: you are such a king while you are on the stage,

like you know everything -- how-where-who-what.

The audience is willing to take breath of your soul

and realize the answers on their own

which are raising heads up,the exit from the nightmare,

the loneliness -- and that´s a reason why they are searching for the heroes. And we? We are doing that cuz we need them too, cuz darkness is scratching our skin... we need a cure for that fear. Fathers of half of us killed themselves. Fathers of other half are killing them. Some of us don´t know what to do. Each of us is firstly fucked up, after other things come.

Everything that we became, everything we trampled to be found, not just to be progressed. Each line, each verse, each thing is a filter where I´m cramming my heart to go out from the other side of the sieve.

Ref.

I am sorry, neither this one is written for you,

I wrote this to defend a child who is hiding behind the song.

That boy inside of me, that Peter Pan who´s behind.

And I am doing all this just to don´t betray him.

Cuz, reality eats him and darkness swallows him.

And he needs help to stay nice.

So, that´s why there is a costume, there are stages and rhymes,and everything that I am doing just to don´t betray him. Sorry.

Intermezzo:

Tick-tack. Night. Watch.

Man. Alone. Corner. Palm.

Glass. Bottle. Ghost. Silence.

Anger. Darkness. Gray cells. Crack.

2.str.

Solo. Among the pieces of the fucked up, broken things

I am aiming empty bottles with the ashtray -- atmosphere is like in the bowling club. Squeezed in the corner of the flat. Squeezed in the corner of the head.

Just soundlessness. Speechlessness. You and empty paper.

And tomorrow -- you should present your idea, view,

like you weren´t all broken last night, tired cuz of everything,

desperate... that´s never written in the newspapers.

The audience wants ´cert*, who cares if you suffer.

They want that you are vanguard, and you can´t go out of the stance. And you mustn´t fall down. Fuck the hills of your bullshits. On that stairway which leads to the stage you put down your ballast and leave it there -- after you take it back.

I remember the face of my friend -- few minutes before the live concert, someone called him on the phone and said to him that he could lose some member of his family who has been in the hospital for a long... There is no more hope, D-Day arrived... but maybe there is still a chance to see him alive if he run there immediately... There is a choice.

Messed up. Seconds are important there.

"He would like that I do this." That´s what he said only,

he went to the stage and he did the best fucking concert ever. And then? Who are we? Fake, mortar, steel?

Are you acting for the public or you are really so great?

The true is simple: You are doing what you have to.

You need that kind of yourself. This costume is a skin.

• Artist:Marčelo
• Album:Napet Šou