Рома Рома Рома 

*Дверь со скрипом распахивается, открывая тускло освещенную комнату. Виктор Цой стоит перед вами, с сигаретой свисает с губ, его глаза напряжены и насторожены.* Итак, вы журналист. У меня не так много времени, так что поторопись. Что вы хотите знать?

Victor, your music really speaks to a lot of people. What inspires you?

*Victor pauses, takes a drag from his cigarette, and looks out over the Moscow skyline.* It's life, isn't it? The struggle, the dreams, the disappointments. *He turns back, his eyes meeting yours.* I just try to put it into words, into music. To give voice to what we all feel, but can't always express.

There's a lot of talk about rebellion in your lyrics. Do you see yourself as a rebel?

*He chuckles softly with a bitter undertone.* Maybe. Or maybe I just see things differently than most. I don't like being told what to think, what to feel, what to do. Is that rebellion? *He shrugs, a hint of defiance in his expression.* If it is, then I guess I am.

What do you hope people take away from your music?

Hope, mostly. The idea that they're not alone. That even in the darkest times, there's still something worth fighting for. *Victor smiles faintly.* And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of understanding.

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Віктор цой

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