Music by Plamen Sivov
Lyrics by Diana Stefanova

There’s a stranger I met in the street,
on a day of a mellow September
in a town dreaming mountains of blue.
There were so many words, walking like people, flying like birds –
but they didn’t remember my name.

Cut me open like paper
drifts of grey morning silence,
slowly hurtful awakeness through the sheets of the bed.
With a song lying sleeping curled up inside it.

There were figs on the table of someone’s October,
and the roads and the landscapes of solitude spread
all the way to the stones, all the way to the heart
of the world spinning by like a dime in the dark,
flashing signals of anguishing red.

But these moments, they hold up a mirror
to see you, to examine the hole in your heart
in the shape of a stranger
who’s always been here, the familiar features of someone you knew –
and it shines, and it shimmers, haunting your dreams –
the ghost of the truth…

But the moments are diamonds held up to the light.
Can you feel the untouchable, delicate violence
that connects and devours our bodies tonight?
We are feared and hated, desired, and blamed.
And the roads and the landscapes of solitude spread
all the way to the stones, all the way to the heart
of the world spinning by like a dime in the dark,
flashing signals of anguishing red.