Million/ Vitaly Bogdanov
A million of yous
have come to these gates.
Have build themselves bridges,
and crossed, with great haste.
Burning them down,
after crossing those rivers.
Waving goodbye,
to those who they've left.
Some came for the money,
some came for the fame,
some came for the challenge,
but all came in vain.
With ease, a gun
is fast to draw.
To shoot a load
and count the score.
But at these gates,
none stand out proud.
They lower chins,
like neutered hounds.
Like buzzing bees,
who serve the hive.
They have done none,
to be alive.
Black Magic Box/ Vitaly Bogdanov
Don't open the window,
there is nothing to see.
Don't look at the mirror,
it's as empty as me.
The lamp on the table
smiles, and silently mocks.
Gave my sole to the devil,
of the black magic box.
It links me
to my quiet place,
suggests my soul
through time and space,
it has the keys
to all my locks.
So, give me my dose
of my black magic box.
I never wanted to enter,
now I don't want to leave.
It is my pupil and mentor.
It never takes, only gives.
Little by little,
day after day.
Into the digital liqueur,
and "Up, and away!"
The only things I need are eyes,
my good and trusty, pair of spies.
I slide my fingers on the board,
I click the mouse, for more and more.
He is the Deum, he's the vox.
He is the small black magic box.
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