I look at the floor, at a puddle of saliva
|
Sacred gift, it is cleaner than a leaf
|
Confused ambition, between these days
|
And what do I see there? |
and who has become now?
|
Army temper - oral environment
|
Nervous steam and veins on the forehead
|
Nonsense. |
There was a committee
|
Earned by breaking painfully tied hands
|
Launched the game. |
Welcome to the club,
|
But remember, you have to be more inconspicuous
|
Beliefs lie, contradict them with a fool
|
Witches don't even dare
|
They hung up the broom. |
They say right now we don't need a corpse
|
Happiness, blessings and lubricate the loops
|
Block. |
And blew off the appetite bravado on the whistle
|
Waiting for puddles of death
|
Where education is a collective image
|
Can't work out in the arsenal
|
Here is a mosaic, parents are trying to hunch over,
|
And only by ensuring not to avoid a bruise
|
On the body, as well as the soul, the race does not settle down
|
With the same forgotten wanderers of the bottom
|
Under the windows at the crossroads, my compass
|
From sulfur, burning - turn into a radar
|
I saw my childhood, yes, somehow I was not impressed
|
A mixture of dictation with the usual kilo of bottles
|
To the receiver, change for vodka, beer -
|
Cycle, at the helm of the authors of the notes of the shops
|
Everything is apparently not beautiful - but we are children of ebony
|
This is art, isn't it?
|
Ruin, bad taste, background of shadows
|
Flip boarding on sentiment
|
Start with pathos
|
End up bottom
|
Instead of nuclear August
|
Rugs under the window
|
A very disdainful pause
|
Was, self-tuning
|
From deafening groans
|
Wrap bitter faust op
|
Our whole life is a catalog of years, the separation of flies from cutlets and drunken delirium
|
Dialogues roll into a stupid thread - collect, like Lego, a pamphlet by letter
|
Someone ordered potpourri in a cauldron? |
Wait, Charon - we'll smoke here in the darkness for now
|
Then I’ll say hello to daddy there, because this fool didn’t order me to rush
|
It's too late to shed when there are air-to-ground explosions near the Kremlin, it will just shoot
|
Sports or a bruise, fuck the age of the family, this is the duty of the Russians - shut up, pig
|
We need to move forward past the scaffold, in search of happiness - no photo, no treasure
|
In a couple of words, this is a true plot - in nuclear August, snow attacked
|
We are hostages of papers, and time is tick-tock, on the screens of the Witcher or webcam, right?
|
The game of lowering the degree: in it we are all in wheelchairs in a world without ramps
|
Yes, we are the children of ebony - we drank port wine and did not notice the nut shade in the wine
|
In the world of shadows, millions of threads, like in a spindle, so poisonous are the minutes in the shroud of days.
|
In the cell alone, stupidly locked in the dust - this is my demon inside I forgot the way home
|
Everyone needs a couple in the pasture, so we walk from the bar to the cemetery
|
Red fabric - touched the wine glass. |
Siege in progress, where's the trebuchet?
|
We don't give a damn about your dinner party: every new day is my Shawshank
|
Start with pathos
|
End up bottom
|
Instead of nuclear August
|
Rugs under the window
|
A very disdainful pause
|
Was, self-tuning
|
From deafening groans
|
Wrap bitter faust op |