I will go out into the field at dawn
|
At the dawn of power, at the sunset of time
|
Knocked out the door from its hinges
|
And rolled up like in a jar of empire tomatoes
|
And for many years, as if moldy inside me
|
And the cellar and the fungus crawls from every crack, like a scab
|
Settling under rotting and bending boards
|
And everything becomes different
|
Your favorite perfume is like formalin
|
Diametrically changing the structure of the world
|
In order to preserve the memory, I embalmed myself
|
And how did it happen, and somewhere in the corner a mouse is eating up a heart
|
And fake smile between each line
|
I'm waiting for her spine to finally be broken with a mousetrap
|
And there would be retribution
|
From hatred the house will soon crack
|
And the cellar where I kept serotonin in three-liter jars
|
And how Atlantes held the roof cracked sticks, rotten sticks
|
The foundation is cracking, dreams of collapse were prophetic, people are things
|
Life is carefree and fleeting
|
And nothing, alas, can save us
|
The fundamental law of meanness
|
Everything has an expiration date
|
And swarming bacteria, absorbing themselves to some extent, secrete themselves,
|
And the city is like a seething humus
|
And worm-trains in the subway carry people through the garden,
|
But where everything is not eternal and rots
|
I arranged on the outskirts of my favorite cellar, cellar
|
my favorite cellar
|
All my women, friends, whom I forgot, whom I could not
|
Who loved as if in a coffin
|
I roll up in a moldy and favorite cellar, in a cellar
|
my favorite cellar
|
I grow into the floor boards and lose the ceiling
|
And if your expiration date has expired
|
As a keepsake, I'll roll up in my favorite cellar, cellar
|
One got to be a genius
|
Others are only good for fertilizer
|
And do not care who is important, and who is not sorry
|
When madness comes, it will harvest everyone
|
And under the smoke from the fires
|
I'll roll a couple of atomic mushrooms into my cellar in reserve
|
And I'm tired of analyzing
|
I'm ready to embrace my nuclear winter
|
And now, a huge weighty box
|
Takes what he considers first-class,
|
But there are 12 crescents in the calendar
|
He kept the apple of his eye that had already deteriorated a long time ago
|
And here, everything, everywhere would be found,
|
And keeping your legend is not a vice
|
Stupidity, lies, hatred, anger
|
This is my favorite cellar, cellar
|
my favorite cellar
|
I grow into the floor boards and lose the ceiling |