Tomorrow will never come

Tomorrow will never come,
In the morning, a New day will begin.
Outside the window, a Blizzard sings – it's Winter,
Everything is embraced by the cold of Frost.
And the eternal captivity of gray weekdays
Once again shatters my mind to dust.

No goal, no ideas – the soul is dead,
Tea cools in the mug: bitter wormwood herb.
Where to find now a saving recipe
To cure the soul's profound melancholy,
And turn the bitterness of years gone by
Into a medicinal absinthe for the soul.

Words whistle like machine-gun bullets,
Flying from the feed of the latest news.
And with every word, loving anyone
Becomes unbearably, impossibly hard.
In the morning, a new day will begin

Tomorrow will never come,
In the morning, a New day will begin.
Outside the window, a Blizzard sings – it's Winter,
Everything is embraced by the cold of Frost.
And the eternal captivity of gray weekdays
Once again shatters my mind to dust.