Money (с альбома "Trans Aviation Pilots")
You tell me about your dream
To live in the house full of money,
To have money lying like crisping carpet
Flying in the rooms like big flecks of dust,
To see money rain from the window,
To have money instead of the grass
And all the time big lorries bring to you more of crisping papers.
But I tell my dream
To live in the house wide and empty
Where the wind easily opens the windows
Caressing my face by its emptiness,
Where the sun illuminates naked walls all day
And outside empty spaces attract my eyes to endlessness.