| Yes, we are sad
|
| But you need to send it in the right direction
|
| The garden was strewn with stones
|
| The last fear was lost and that
|
| Man hanging on a cross
|
| At one end it is stuck into the ground
|
| It stands rooted to the spot, like a pillar
|
| And guards the gardens
|
| While the rest, those who weren't scared
|
| They walk and live their measured life
|
| Eternal sentries at a combat post
|
| Head full of building materials
|
| You try hard all the time, but you can't understand anything
|
| Can't, can't, can't
|
| People fell into cracks
|
| Diverging under the feet of the earth
|
| Were clinging with our hands
|
| Now walking with me and cursing living corpses
|
| Definitely solve the issue
|
| To have or not to have
|
| Dead children come out of us
|
| You don't miss me
|
| I after you too
|
| Former friends from the past
|
| The looks are so rigid
|
| It all stuck so
|
| I call for justice
|
| So pass me
|
| Prompt fingers, prompt nails
|
| How to play it
|
| Life is an interesting thing
|
| But people are skydiving
|
| What is there to catch?
|
| Do you see this too?
|
| Or one of the most embarrassing moments
|
| When the table breaks and the guests surround the dishes
|
| I become bitter and clear
|
| They congratulate, they will be full of words,
|
| And I swallowed my tongue again
|
| Spout their banalities with which I disagree
|
| Why wish them
|
| After all, sometimes you get up, you say
|
| You turn into a jester
|
| Among the roar of a chainsaw, more than one drank,
|
| But about this
|
| Gutar is not necessary
|
| I would come to drugs someday
|
| Yes, the earth will take everything and everything,
|
| And while we live on credit
|
| Later it will be seen
|
| Take me to one cauldron to one fire
|
| Let down all the dogs
|
| I signed up for this myself
|
| Even though I collected
|
| Public opinion
|
| Caught that bit
|
| It's vicious
|
| And in the corner screams the last word in convulsions
|
| We are all losers here, don't worry
|
| Tight atmosphere
|
| Domostroy is being prepared in the kitchen
|
| Here the higher substances fail
|
| We made our choice
|
| Taking into account several thousand little things
|
| Linking them together
|
| Rolling head over heels down the mountain
|
| Picking up snow along the way
|
| They will look and say:
|
| — yeah, quite…
|
| And creative people
|
| They love to do things
|
| Do not feed them with bread,
|
| But I'm sorry, I don't believe a single sound
|
| Do you play the blues?
|
| And I'm not in a hurry
|
| I'll sit here and spit
|
| This has its advantages
|
| It's hard like climbing a mountain
|
| Like thoughts running into my head for a minute
|
| Here you can talk freely
|
| It's all just an intro
|
| Here you can talk freely
|
| It's all just an intro
|
| Decibels of empty sound
|
| And not malice -
|
| It would have been blown away by a wave long ago
|
| And I, with my rather selfish persona, will speak
|
| Until the joints and bones fall apart
|
| While I get into the rhythm
|
| Remember and mourn
|
| Days you can skip
|
| Tablecloth walkway
|
| Tablecloth walkway
|
| Tablecloth walkway
|
| Miracle didn't happen
|
| There is a dangerous neighborhood in the phone book
|
| Someday the apocalypse
|
| And today the usual fuck
|
| Miracle didn't happen
|
| There is a dangerous neighborhood in the phone book
|
| Someday the apocalypse
|
| And today the usual fuck |