There's blood in my purse
Which I pay my debts with.
Sometimes it's mine,
sometimes it's theirs.
It's reason I'm breathing:
circulating economy,
insurance of the living.
When my parents will die
I will take the blood back,
But I won't have my purse;
It'll slip from my hands,
Falling red on the ground
in a flood.
I will choke, and I'll be
just a corpse with regrets:
when I'll pay all my debts,
there will be no blood left.