First couplet:
|
Again time will fly between happy faces,
|
Between foggy streets between flying birds.
|
Travelers are entangled around, where all dreams will be erased,
|
Only the memory will remain, you are the same as before,
|
And the sleeping areas are sleeping, the lights do not go out.
|
Remained raspizdyaem here will take into account all your truth,
|
Again, the caps are harnessed, letting the plastic float.
|
Let's talk about the main thing, the truth is worn out,
|
A deck of cards will not give the truth, it will not give out what is needed.
|
Again, everything for tomorrow is a postponed hobby,
|
What roles await you all will become clear soon.
|
Between courtyard utopias where every clatter is heard,
|
He will show up from the doorway and tell who is who.
|
And who is the two-faced pizdabol who whines at the rustle of grandmas,
|
Failures drip on your head like a downpour.
|
Rastabachit drablo things push everything away,
|
Do something important to sort out the routine.
|
The one that is in my head after many years,
|
Everyone who and what needs here will reach us.
|
To whom the road is upwards, to whom there is a barrier to upwards.
|
Second couplet?
|
One day, if lived properly, can be much fuller,
|
Than a life without purpose.
|
Live every day as you would live your whole life just for this day,
|
So that this day does not lose its meaning.
|
Been through these goodbyes so many times
|
To which I feel affection more than to my beloved VK.
|
What suits me really
|
Any scenario or just devotion and an outstretched hand in response.
|
And it seemed there should be a meaning in all this,
|
In this fucking world, ending in winter and starting in summer.
|
In the next jump, you would not have had a meter,
|
And it seemed that the credits passed by themselves before my eyes.
|
And you drown those days in alcohol and say sorry.
|
But forgiving doesn't mean being yourself,
|
And from good to evil is within reach.
|
Chorus:
|
And what is your role, how long have you been among strangers,
|
You are yours or someone else's, someone good will become a bastard,
|
And the bastard will remain like that.
|
Third verse:
|
Over the years we have broken a lot of firewood,
|
To warm our shelter with little warmth.
|
We got lost, winding with those who breathe smoke,
|
Later they patched holes in the roofs of relatives after finishing the tower.
|
Someone entered our life and still breathes with us here,
|
Another magnificent curtain came out of its role.
|
We are all led here by the nose, you hear everyone,
|
It's easy to be superfluous, like a spare protocol for a traffic cop.
|
A generation of morons and a time of excess
|
You are not a cloud, but you drizzle something, but often too much.
|
Life drives us skipping, pulls us to puke from what I see,
|
It's still going strong, so hold on tight bro.
|
You are in character right now, but the roles are assigned by the Almighty,
|
Murzik, Chinchilla, or fucking with an umbilical hernia on foot.
|
Everything comes easy or you puff up in vain,
|
Although, in order to just squeeze out my juices, I squeezed everything to the end.
|
And what is your role in this world???
|
You swim in the ocean of life with a brass or a crawl,
|
Ready to fight or pull, confess or argue.
|
You are a rooster or a ram, extinct or fit for the Olympic torch.
|
Chorus:
|
And what is your role, how long have you been among strangers,
|
You are yours or someone else's, someone good will become a bastard,
|
And the bastard will remain like that. |