Who are we? |
We are rats, we are your bowls to crumbs
|
In your thoughts we are, we are. |
Who will we be? |
None!
|
We are those, wake up the person whom you summoned? |
Where are you?
|
In your mind!
|
Yes, we are one rat: we chew, we gnaw you, we eat you
|
Everything from the showcase to take away: pork, fish and wines with bread, with cumin
|
We will move everything on the way, weave a web from our bodies
|
We breathe in your backs, so you didn’t call us people
|
While you were eating, we huddled together in a flock and gnawed books until you became
|
Let's become in our burp, worms roam in the stomach
|
While in the bedroom you were sleeping-sniffing - the rats rebelled
|
We gnaw at your pine house, we gnaw at your house from the foundation
|
We gnaw your laughter and tears. |
One hundred of us
|
We gnaw at the views, morals, ideas of the most worthy
|
We gnaw lyama-medals on the body, but not conscience
|
We gnaw on a desk, roofing felts of rappers, roofing felts
|
New poets, it doesn't matter, we gnaw them and troll
|
We enter your city on a horse, as if in Troy
|
The roads of meanders we swarm swarm in our own way
|
Turning everything over in your house seven times
|
Here it is the color of our wool, it is yours - the gray masses
|
Let's turn faces into masks, and then thoughts into masks
|
We adjust to one, killing the dissonance for a century
|
We no longer stink, our squeak is not noticeable
|
Gray rats among people, gray people among rats
|
Everything is mixed up - only muzzles, no more faces
|
The letters fall on the chords, but in the hands of a blank sheet
|
We are no longer nasty, yes, we are no longer the enemy
|
In the war, we were launched to you by the last enemy
|
Our ideas without ideas, our forward without roads
|
Our people without people, here is the door of vice - the threshold
|
Step over everything is there, gray wool in the foot
|
There is nothing to think, more precisely there is nothing already
|
What have you become? |
Don't fall behind! |
Here let's move like everyone else
|
Here is your wheel, it is in fashion to be in the wheel
|
Ran forward, to fashionable music
|
Ahead is our pie - let's fall into it with a muzzle
|
Just spin the wheel, do your quota
|
Be like everyone else and like everyone else. |
And in the evening along the burrows
|
Disperse, but first just post your selfie on Instagram
|
And sleep, you are a mouse, not an owl. |
turn yourself to the wall
|
Shoot yourself with a dream, inexplicable and strange
|
Where he did not move his tail, under the groan of rat uprisings
|
Consider yourself in it, where you breathe out of fashion
|
Admire your face and compare it with your muzzle
|
Where you stand your ground and don't write dictations
|
Where you listen not to howl, but to your musician
|
Where the words of his strength give you like pills
|
To the sick, don't get up, whisper lyuli-lyuli to yourself
|
Examine your hands, they are without wool and pasture
|
Your face, and shout to yourself "don't wake up"
|
And yet wake up, wipe off the sweat, drink some water,
|
And then smile, and, throw nonsense from your head
|
The game has turned over, time is really sand
|
What was it? |
Nonsense, the wheel is waiting for you!
|
What was it? |
Nonsense, the wheel is waiting for you!
|
What was it? |
I said the wheel is waiting for you! |