Перевод песни P.O.S – Hand Made Hand Gun

Работает на технологии Яндекс.Переводчика
Слушать
I am a hand made hand gun
Operated by paper crooks
Loaded up with bullets of blank pages
Torn from your little black book
You can call me all your favorites
Oh, I love those dirty looks
You know I'll be drunk and waiting
On the steps of St. Anthony's Church
Knuckle-blood stains the doorframe
Frustration both ways
You see me knock, I see you gaze through the peeker
Watch me sneak far away (bump bump bump bump)
As I push my please through the shades
I'm out of sight, for I know violence is nonsense
From a dime, I spent your mind
Time stop for us (caught up)
Cost of a heart, accosted, don't blink
Nothing's so strangled like us
Nothin' deranged like that love
Nothin' explains away the way
I played like new things, don't break
Live under your ribs, a toybox, an Apple plug-in
Tuned to tune out, give out what's yours
Like when in doubt, play the mouse in the mouth like
Please don't let me die
And don't let me die
But you know me
I could never lay you down to sleep
Take a knee, spillin' salt and shame upon your pretty feet
With a head full of bourbon
I do this though I love you
And I don't think you hurt me on purpose
I thought of everything
Even your paper ring
The organ's playing our song
Playing our song, so sing along
(Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death. Amen)
You come to find me, hopelessly
Wrapped around the gun, staring at the sun
Don't you fuckin' lie to me
G'head and try it, see, God's witness
Pick a sense and listens, hidden
Layin' down behind a line of ivy
He can hand you pure moments
Or quit you from every sense you got
Protect you with the spectacles-
Testicles, wallet, watch
But the devil keeps an open shop
He pays his bills and fills his pots
Thanks to the single sable sheep
Hidden in that hollow plot
It's a classic case of damned if you do
Damned if you don't
And I'll be damned if I end up playing Job
With God's loving hand on my throat
You could swear I traced a trail of wormwood
Slipping from the Empyrean
But Providence, just a myth if I aim to let my trigger pray
But you know me
I could never lay you down to sleep
I'm a prostrate paper tiger
Supplicating at your pretty feet
My mouth may run on a loaded gun
And a belly full of bourbon
I only do this cause I love ya
I know you'd never hurt me on purpose