Linkin Park — Lost in the Echo

Test my will, test my heart,

Let me tell you how the odds gonna stack up.

Y'all go hard, I go smart.

How's it working out for y'all in the back, huh?

I've seen that frustration

Big cross, they're lost but don't know

And I've come back unshaken

Let down, I've lived and let go

So you can let it be known

I don't hold back, I hold my own

I can't be mapped, I can't be cloned.

I can't sing flat, it ain't my tone

I can't fall back, I came too far

Hold myself up and love my scars

Let the bells ring wherever they are

'Cause I was there saying...

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Yeah, yo

You were that foundation

never gonna be another one, no.

I followed, so taken, so conditioned,

I could never let go.

Then sorrow, then sickness,

Then the shock when you flip it on me

So hollow, so vicious, so afraid

I couldn't let myself see

That I could never be held, back or up,

no, I hold myself.

Check the rep, yep, you know my mine well.

Forget the rest, let them know my hell.

There and back, yet my soul ain't sell.

Kept respect up the best they fell.

Let the rest be the tale they tell,

that I was there saying...

And I

Take back all the things I said

To make you fell like that.

No, you can tell 'em all now.

I don't back up, I don't back down.

I don't fold up and I don't bow.

I don't row over, don't know how.

I don't care where the enemies are.

I can't be stopped, all I know, go hard.

Won't forget how I got this far

For every time saying...

In these promises broken deep below,

Each word gets lost in the echo,

So one last lie I can see through,

This time I finally let you go...

I'm my own worst enemy.

And I know

I may end up failing too

But I know

You were just like me with someone disappointed in you

— Полжизни прошло, а мне нечем похвастаться. Нечем. Я словно отпечаток большого пальца на окне небоскреба. Я — пятно дерьма

на куске туалетной бумаги, которую вынесло в море вместе с миллионами тонн сточных вод.

— Видишь? Послушай, как ты выразил свою мысль. Как красиво и образно. 'Пятно дерьма, которое вынесло в море'. Я бы никогда так не написал.

— Да, я бы тоже. Кажется, это Буковски.

Дик высунулся из окошка, но никого не увидел; судя по мелодии, это было религиозное песнопение, и ему, в его душевной опустошённости и усталости, захотелось, чтобы поющие помолились и за него — но о чём, он не знал, разве только о том, чтобы не затопила его с каждым днём нарастающая тоска.

Эти стихи, наверное, последние,

Человек имеет право перед смертью высказаться,

Поэтому мне ничего больше не совестно.