Токсичный триумф (Toxic Triumph)

This coat has seen a thousand rainy nights. It's been bathed in blood and neon lights. The collar's frayed against the autumn wind. A heavy fabric Where the dirt is pinned. In the right pocket, A photograph of a missing girl. In the left, a pawn ticket For a cultured pearl. This coat has slept in fifty cheap hotels. It knows the scent of gunpowder And empty shells. It caught the tear of a widow On a Tuesday morn. It kept me warm when I wished I'd never Been born. It's heavy with the weight of every lie I've Heard. And every broken, desperate, Whispered word. This coat will be the shroud they bury me In. When I finally pay the price for my original Sin. Until that day, I'll pull the collar up tight. And walk back into the cold And unforgiving night. Just a shadow moving through the city mist. A ghost That nobody knows exists. Just an old Coat.