Для  electric gypsy

Cars or supermarket trolleys,
lanterns or moons, an omen or a bad day,
moors or wastelands, court love or follies,
is it rape or frolicking in hay?
I forgot where I've been born,
is it a mirror or a stranger's eye?
is it an echo or a French horn?
is it my last chance or a lie?
Walking side by side with doubt
does no one answer my calls back home
or I've just simply never come out
or never made that last call back home?
I remember eternal Arctic night,
draught trains, broken fingers and a long-stemmed rose,
rock'n'rollas and my freight of height,
how I broke my fingers and how bled my nose.
The concept of grand nothing ahead
or a one-way ticket with a huge bomb
that will earn me some bread
that goes down from 27 to one.
I know 2 languages: English and English foul,
can translate 'Twa Corbies',
can fight, can spit, can howl,
can be rough, can be in showbiz,
I can give no quarter
and can shoot myself on a foot,
can't be warm, only colder or hotter,
can and will stash the loot
but before that I have a hundred attempts
of my Achilles last stands.
Every night I repeat the vow I've got
I shut my eyes and my fever bestows,
'I'd better burn soon, then slowly rot
as I chose the path where no one goes'.