Bazlab - Москва, my dark city

Кто-то просит мелочь без роли в спектакле.
Я между ними, как мелкий звук.
Не герой, не жертва, просто круг.
Near the metro leaves a thousand rows.
Buy my dream trip, keep it warm.
Driver's got three truths in his throat.
Barista pours ego in a paper form.
Somebody builds an empire in a group chat.
Somebody prays with an empty palm.
City whispers, "Do not trust me." I nod like, "Yeah,
I know." Moscow, my dark city.
Saints and sharks in one pretty.