| In this fucking world, music is what saves from death
|
| The heart can feel what the eyes can't see
|
| Every day a new scar on the body
|
| A little more - and we'll put on a wooden tailcoat
|
| Around friends, but you can not trust them,
|
| Everyone, in fact, is an enemy here, in fact
|
| No one is safe from falling, down to the concrete
|
| Fatum always takes the current back if there was a fast inflow
|
| Money carries oxygen through the veins, anatomy is powerless there
|
| And we choose from a lot of roads the one that always infuriated
|
| Big city - big crematorium, there is enough space for everyone
|
| Life shoots at you like a target, in reality, but you are wounded in a dream
|
| Gray granite - urban rainbow, all your morality once - and removed
|
| Conscience is clear only at first glance, but in reality there is a pile of dirt
|
| We all dreamed of something else, but buried our desires
|
| Time marinates us in blood and tears, eating us raw
|
| Our destinies are a fuse, the result is determined, known
|
| So go ahead and with a song
|
| The devil is playing with us
|
| The stakes are on the verge
|
| And the earth floats under your feet
|
| God is busy with others
|
| Rules imposed
|
| And we dutifully kill ourselves
|
| The devil is playing with us
|
| The stakes are on the verge
|
| And the earth floats under your feet
|
| God is busy with others
|
| Rules imposed
|
| And we dutifully kill ourselves
|
| Welcome to the real world, yopta, sim-salabim
|
| He pretended to spare you, but then quietly finished off
|
| Nadezhda won't inject morphine, she can't do without it herself
|
| The hopelessness of even the most living will turn without emotions into the dead
|
| Time to collect stones, the boomerang of karma flies back to you
|
| Unquestioning obedience to chance, traces of vertigo in the eyes
|
| Fucking rules of the fucking game
|
| Neither Alaska nor Crimea will fix fucking here
|
| It's a fucking sabbath, not a formal reception
|
| Look around and you will see dances, bonfires
|
| I'm in a strange monastery with my charter,
|
| It was fucked up, but it became galimo
|
| Nothing new, naturally.
|
| Troubles on others have always brought down a herd
|
| Castaneda was right, it's all Journey to Ixtlan
|
| On the path of a warrior, only suffering can serve as a quick consolation.
|
| E! |
| This is my cross, but I would have known in advance - I would not have climbed here
|
| Someone planned all this extremely successful revenge a long time ago.
|
| Our destinies are a fuse, the result is determined, known
|
| So go ahead and with a song
|
| The devil is playing with us
|
| The stakes are on the verge
|
| And the earth floats under your feet
|
| God is busy with others
|
| Rules imposed
|
| And we dutifully kill ourselves
|
| The devil is playing with us
|
| The stakes are on the verge
|
| And the earth floats under your feet
|
| God is busy with others
|
| Rules imposed
|
| And we dutifully kill ourselves
|
| The devil is playing with us
|
| The stakes are on the verge
|
| And the earth floats under your feet
|
| God is busy with others
|
| Rules imposed
|
| And we dutifully kill ourselves
|
| The devil is playing with us
|
| The stakes are on the verge
|
| And the earth floats under your feet
|
| God is busy with others
|
| Rules imposed
|
| And we dutifully kill ourselves |