Андрей Попов — Брутальный Хулиган

You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan.

The city breathes heat [?], but I walk after you, madame.

You walk like a late frame. Heels draw the beat. Everyone stares after you, but they don’t know who I am or how. By the courtyard a light flickers. Your driver is asleep somewhere. You laugh as if there are no foreign borders at all. You play — I stay silent, pretend I don’t want you. But inside, like a wild beast, it lunges for your neck, for those eyes of yours.

You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan. I don’t care about their signal — I’ll steal you anyway from their parties, from their golden chains. You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan. If you say “you mustn’t” — I’ll steal you anyway from someone else’s arms into my restless world.

A finger on the glass writes a name in the half-fog. You’re used to clean hands — mine have knuckles in blood. But suddenly you read my portrait by the tattoos and the scars, you’ll whisper: “There’s no way out” — and step after karma yourself [?]. You laugh — I stay silent, pretend I don’t want you, but through the veins — your perfume: it’s too late to pretend.

You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan. I don’t care about their signal — I’ll steal you anyway from their parties, from their golden chains. You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan. If you say “you mustn’t” — I’ll steal you anyway from someone else’s arms into my restless world.

A voice closer. No rings, no rules. Only your pulse, my gaze, our block. If you’re scared — take a step back. If you believe — take a step here.

You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan. I don’t care about their signal — I’ll steal you anyway from their parties, from their golden chains. You’re a beautiful madame, and I’m a brutal hooligan. If you say “you mustn’t” — I’ll steal you anyway from someone else’s arms into my restless world.