| Do not blame me for the mat
|
| I'm in another life at the factory will fall f * scrap in fuel oil
|
| Offal of my soul, as in a galvanized basin
|
| And in this meat grinder of days, we will all go for sausage
|
| We rented cars, we rented filks
|
| We rented lives - yes, we roll on show-offs
|
| The head that has flown off is barely held on by bolts
|
| I broadcast live, after burning with shame
|
| We'll all go to servelat, we'll all go to carbonade
|
| I invite all animals to our meat processing plant
|
| And this shit will come to you - you won't need a lubricant
|
| This garbage will come to you, in a different way - not an option
|
| In the gleam of the tile, dad fiercely died
|
| Here you and all your kents that did not live to see the morning
|
| We'll drink so much brake fluid that we'll go blind forever
|
| Above us, angels, like flies, settle in black snow
|
| Settle with black snow, settle with black snow
|
| Crack so much brakes that it’s like you’re out of your mind
|
| After on the curb belly, black snow settle
|
| Yes, sleep right under the moonlight, brother, bye-bye
|
| Settle with black snow, settle with black snow
|
| Crack so much brakes that it’s like you’re out of your mind
|
| After on the curb belly, black snow settle
|
| Yes, sleep right under the moonlight, brother, bye-bye
|
| Our sky is a ceiling, our sky is a ceiling
|
| Sleep, brother, bye-bye, because tomorrow again at the factory
|
| Tomorrow we are back at the factory, tomorrow we are back at the factory
|
| Can you see the stars through the bottle? |
| Our sky is the ceiling
|
| Reality, old man, poisons us, like a "newbie"
|
| We are sitting in a burning house with a deputy, drinking tea
|
| Then I'll cast myself a badge in a burning workshop
|
| Yes, filling my eyes, I'm stewing a bull on my tongue
|
| We rented cars, we rented flicks
|
| We rented lives, let's ride on a show-off
|
| The head that has flown off is barely held on by bolts
|
| I lead a crooked broadcast and never repent
|
| After all, I'm the Tin Woodman, I'm cold as brass knuckles
|
| There is no heart under the metal, plus I look like a former prisoner
|
| And so that at least in someone's heart something crunches like a snack
|
| I need to shoot a photoset in a pile of yellow leaves
|
| I am the Tin Woodman, I am cold as brass knuckles
|
| There is no heart under the metal, plus I look like a former prisoner
|
| But I want to please everyone, I want to please everyone so much
|
| But, damn, no one likes me, because black snow covers my soul
|
| Settle with black snow, settle with black snow
|
| Crack so much brakes that it’s like you’re out of your mind
|
| After on the curb belly, black snow settle
|
| Yes, sleep right under the moonlight, brother, bye-bye
|
| Settle with black snow, settle with black snow
|
| Crack so much brakes that it’s like you’re out of your mind
|
| After on the curb belly, black snow settle
|
| Yes, sleep right under the moonlight, brother, bye-bye
|
| Our sky is a ceiling, our sky is a ceiling
|
| Sleep, brother, bye-bye, because tomorrow again at the factory
|
| Tomorrow we are back at the factory, tomorrow we are back at the factory
|
| Can you see the stars through the bottle? |
| Our sky is the ceiling
|
| Our sky is the ceiling
|
| Our sky is the ceiling
|
| Our sky is the ceiling
|
| And only the sky is the ceiling |