Don't let the old man's bad luck, trouble your door
'Cause you sleep on the right side of the disappointment
Eight years, five months, four days and one hour ago
I keep changing, but without moving, without a purpose

I can't trouble your door
I can't trouble your door

It's the Aula[?], of [?] won't trouble your door
It's Mercury and Venus, it's a part of [?] porter
It's an Alphabet and a Calendar of the dreams you had before
It's the drone of dumb voices on a morning[?] street turning colder

I can't trouble your door
I can't trouble your door

I can't trouble your door
I can't trouble your door

I can't trouble your door
I can't trouble your door

I can't trouble your door
I can't trouble your door