| - Well, can you pour something?
|
| - And what to pour that is?
|
| - I took vodka, we can drink vodka
|
| - Listen, fuck
|
| I forgot my house keys
|
| At home I sleep on a screw
|
| Which one of us is more here? |
| —
|
| Roma, my lyrical hero
|
| The roof is going, the piles are going
|
| Waving from the window
|
| While my darling was free
|
| I rot on screw
|
| Okay, my song is a testament
|
| How do I finish those confession, take and solve me (a)
|
| On autopilot my leather robot, I pulled the reins and left
|
| I upload myself to the net
|
| I penetrate into the hearts of people to sing for eternity
|
| It's so crowded in my body: to keep the soul is vandalism
|
| My darling is big - I develop tourism in it (mm)
|
| People ask for a bunch of photos (a)
|
| And there, in an embrace, a smile is crushed next to the corpse of a boy (a)
|
| I am writing to you from the isolation
|
| Concreted by me firmly on the scribble (a)
|
| The keys are scattered to you among the lines
|
| The term is shining, I don’t remember, only my fire is crying
|
| I would be a guest at the table, but I'm on the second table
|
| Stupid dumb as hell
|
| Stunned by the abyss of pain
|
| Packed in cabinets
|
| I myself am a skeleton there among the blouses
|
| Who is broken, he will grow together
|
| Who is bitten will not grow together
|
| What's left of me is a body - feed the dogs with me
|
| I betrayed my worthless spirit, why is it still alive
|
| Transplanted it into bits of sel
|
| My lyrical hero is more honest than me
|
| Fuck Roma Khudyakov - useless material
|
| In the tracks naked as I am
|
| I love it there, but not myself (a)
|
| I love it there, but not myself (a)
|
| I love it there, but not myself (a)
|
| I love it there, but not myself (a) |