| Invariably in memory, your face is a smooth gloss.
|
| He knows only the furniture and the two of us. |
| We were great.
|
| Neighbors behind the wall. |
| We break dishes, we drink - we eat.
|
| Stop the dance... The dance of our bodies tormented by themselves.
|
| Chorus:
|
| But, I am from summer, and you are from cold winters.
|
| I am from the basements, and you are from the last floors of the houses.
|
| Honey, who are we fucking? |
| - This is hardly love ...
|
| I'll leave in the morning and won't even close the door behind me.
|
| You will wake up alone, I will leave an empty bed, ours.
|
| Drink, incinerate my insides to the bottom (to the bottom), to the ground (to the ground), to the melt.
|
| To the bottom (to the bottom), to the ground (to the ground), to the thaw.
|
| Until the thawed ... The thawed ...
|
| You hate the morning, the emptiness, it's dull and sad in someone here.
|
| The crunch of snow outside the window, the flow of people - you don’t know them ... Let them go!
|
| Thoughts about me, but quickly got bored again,
|
| You so rightly decided to play on my nerves with me!
|
| No need to think about tomorrow, because these bullets are for breakfast
|
| So they burn, squeezing your heart, and there is no way back ...
|
| Look for me ahead, but in our song there is only one motive,
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| I have to leave early in the morning!
|
| Chorus:
|
| But, I am from summer, and you are from cold winters.
|
| I am from the basements, and you are from the last floors of the houses.
|
| Honey, who are we fucking? |
| - This is hardly love ...
|
| I'll leave in the morning, and I won't even close the door behind me.
|
| You will wake up alone, I will leave an empty bed, ours.
|
| Drink, incinerate my insides to the bottom (to the bottom), to the ground (to the ground), to the melt.
|
| To the bottom (to the bottom), to the ground (to the ground), to the thaw.
|
| Until the thawed ... The thawed ...
|
| But, I am from summer, and you are from cold winters.
|
| I am from the basements, and you are from the last floors of the houses.
|
| Honey, who are we fucking? |
| - This is hardly love ...
|
| This is hardly love... |