I ask you a question:
|
"Why do some swim, while others go along the bottom?"
|
I ask you a question:
|
“Why do some swim, while others go along the bottom?
|
And under your feet: time is sand;
|
Where someone grazes, and someone grazes
|
I ask you a question:
|
“Why do some swim, while others go along the bottom?
|
And under your feet: time is sand;
|
Where someone grazes, and someone grazes
|
Why can't I sleep at night, tell me boss
|
If I'm a teapot for you, why didn't you tip me?
|
Why does my Gammeln rot? |
Why rattling swords
|
They walked and shouted, but they landed again at the very beginning...
|
Why? |
Damn, we are in a puddle, not the mayor
|
Is it really from the fact that there are temples in Merce on the icon?
|
Who were these songs written for? |
BUT?
|
Machine guns or manual craniums?
|
Tears not from the cold, alas, crystal
|
Here, either sleep under the lashes, or under the crosses, huh!
|
After work live in the house
|
Stuffed or shot in the stomach
|
This is how we live, give birth and grow an inheritance
|
We take off and spin on the perch bar
|
One is full of gifts, the other is a wall of gifts
|
I will not turn off my road, where there are simply no roads
|
What are you skidding, bitch, and what are you whining about?
|
Yes, judge, because in this city you are a zero
|
You didn't put anything, you didn't lose
|
You only mothered and mothered, and woe to mothers
|
He wore his own and was indignant at the monitor
|
Was for the ATO, but did not hide behind the cross,
|
And a warm blanket, under a warm roof;
|
Poems were probably written with ink - not with blood
|
You brought your right message with music,
|
But you can't change people, alas, I'm sorry
|
They were the first to put you in the shooting gallery
|
That's how I once believed in them like you
|
I flew out the window while they are sitting outside the window
|
And they love only themselves
|
So maybe your mayor doesn't look like a pig
|
When, in the end, did he decide to love his one family?
|
I ask you a question:
|
“Why does everyone like stupid drowning so much?
|
And you - to sing to them, standing on the ledge. ”;
|
Is this deceit or maximalism?
|
I ask you a question:
|
“Why does everyone like stupid drowning so much?
|
And you - to sing to them, standing on the ledge. ”;
|
Is this deceit or maximalism?
|
You have the right to see this, because you are the ruler
|
You tear my texts to pieces
|
After all, this is garbage that is easily ground
|
And I'm not the first, but the thousandth Tyoma Loic
|
My poems do not carry a sacred meaning
|
I'm thinner than you, but I don't fit on TV
|
Like you and my texts, only for chickens to laugh
|
All because, chickens, I did not write them for you
|
And this is not a deception, not my ego
|
Poets are children, and words are Lego
|
We played, in search of a rhyme,
|
But our texts are needed here, like credits for a film
|
Everyone dispersed after the final scene
|
After jokes, special effects and battles,
|
But for some reason, knowing this, we continue
|
Write and die, leaving the sting of truth |