First verse: Perhaps something is wrong with the way that I live,
Because I just can’t move on after all that’s happened to me,
And no doubt, I’m dying from a terrible disease:
Infection of being chased by my own memories...
(What?) You don’t understand? Well, I’ll try to explain:
Imagine, that my life is a book, which yet has no name,
And name will be set, judging by what it will contain,
By everything I’ve done and said in each and every day,
It already has many chapters, but some I don’t wanna remember,
Like «pain from a long-distance love» and «the death of my best friend»,
Ye, it’s [bad word] for us, and normally such things get forgotten,
But for me thinkin’ of the past became as vital as water,
That’s why in my book they take more, than only a few pages,
What you saw on the one before, you’ll find on the next with no changes,
So, I guess, that this book and it’s name will be boring and dull,
If i don’t leave all, that bothers me here and now!
 [bad word]  Cuz before going to sleep, I think over all I have done,
And it makes me feel sick, I wanna cry, scream [bad word] 
So, thus now I must take a chainsaw and cut,
Every thought, that is not releasing my mind and heart./
x2

Second verse: Why I escape my problems in lyrics and not somewhere else?
For example in a psychological clinic?(At least, it makes sense)
Of course, there’s another way to deal with your troubles,
Rip them out of your book and bury ‘em in a narrow house!
But if I do that, then my life-book won’t [bad word] 
Missing pages will make it almost impossible to read,
Think of yourself playin’ with a lil’ brother at your parents home,
And suddenly you’re raising a baby son in a house of your own,
(Hm)Isn’t it strange?... And what happened with the rest?
You deleted parts of your life, cuz they ain’t the best of the best?!
And so, you’ve turned your book into a standard magazine,
Beautiful one, but once read - it goes in a paper bin,
Now, I don’t refuse from any single day of my existence,
I just place a few of ‘em in this song, which is much more resistant,
than steel or stone, cuz even when I’ll be gone,
My words and my book will live on, and its name won’t be unknown!
 [bad word] x2

Daniil Zorkin 2013.