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Thoughts of suicide do not leave me like alcoholic parties until the morning

 Got up, drank, went to bed and everything went in a circle as always

 And when all the money runs out again

 I'll take my guitar and play the streets endlessly

 Every clink of coins makes you play harder and harder

 Taking the guitar and walking away, you will briefly remember it

 For the sake of the one who started playing

 The painfully familiar smell of cigarettes and alcohol

 Your memories will be erased in an instant like the smell of cigarettes

 Passing by the street where you were beaten

 And now they’re beating someone else and you’ll pass by without even looking back