| I thought I had written out a long time ago
|
| And every time, trying to fuck, I spend the night at the stations
|
| T-shirt "Youth", vances, and I'm stylish, fucked up,
|
| But is there any point, since inside I'm rotting and
|
| Not left to crawl out from the bottom
|
| A corral of street postmodernity and cattle?
|
| I once said that I can see fate in the eyes
|
| Now I'm not sure that I can do anything myself
|
| And one hundred minutes per second - the speed of the liner, all rushing down
|
| And in a languid bar a lonely vocalist will perform Spleen
|
| And everything I'm vulnerable to will be told in one song
|
| In one theater, in one act
|
| And he'll say the plane broke down and my flight won't take off (Won't take off)
|
| And he will say, there's nothing more I can save here (Don't save)
|
| Vultures fly on the scent
|
| And I'm still escorting the liners to the west
|
| While palm touching the clouds
|
| We wanted to live brightly and with passion
|
| On crashed planes, we turn the starter and forward
|
| Into the sky from beer bottles, burnt cigarette butts
|
| Developing a speed of about a hundred minutes per second
|
| We wanted to live brightly and with passion
|
| On crashed planes, we turn the starter and forward
|
| Into the sky from beer bottles, burnt cigarette butts
|
| Developing a speed of about a hundred minutes per second
|
| Years go by, and as if for the first time September burns
|
| And don't care about the sky, we can at least conquer ourselves here
|
| And what I do, I do not like, of course,
|
| But in this atmosphere everything is lost - self-control
|
| And a hundred minutes per second. |
| Birds are coming together from the metal
|
| To collide with a double star and be reborn again
|
| And we dreamed of living easily and effortlessly,
|
| But the head is covered by a rain of burning bolts and nuts
|
| The collapse of the flight of our thoughts can be seen someone jinxed
|
| Why did our flight of fantasies crash in the same way
|
| And seeing a rainbow became so unusual
|
| From rainy streets it smears like under a glitch
|
| And I crossed out a couple of verses a year ago
|
| I'm already different, not the same anymore, and time has run out, moreover (Besides)
|
| I'll fly away, putting only a bottle in a bag
|
| Developing the speed of one hundred minutes per second
|
| We wanted to live brightly and with passion
|
| On crashed planes, we turn the starter and forward
|
| Into the sky from beer bottles, burnt cigarette butts
|
| Developing a speed of about a hundred minutes per second
|
| We wanted to live brightly and with passion
|
| On crashed planes, we turn the starter and forward
|
| Into the sky from beer bottles, burnt cigarette butts
|
| Developing a speed of about a hundred minutes per second |