Honestly, it's true!
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I am a cyborg!
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Honestly, it's true!
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On the bus, I stared out the window.
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Ahead, quietly and slowly, the old grandfather is beating moonshine.
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Jokes not about that, noise is only a background, thoughts are far away,
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All here on those he, my district, I hang on the window.
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There was a time, I ran here purely barefoot,
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Hiding behind the glass, gloomy city or gloomy everything, huh?
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I hang on the window, and the cabin is empty and dark.
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Evening lights the lamps, a sad movie.
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I hang on the window, and ahead is a trail from the port,
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Under the mop of grandfather, check the network of cyborgs.
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The age of the first motorolas and the last elephants,
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I have a dream where there is a peaceful forest and I see your white face.
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Flowers, the colors of spring, fell on the dress with beads,
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With dry calculation on the body, every bend is yours.
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And the eyebrows do not frown, no traces of passion are hidden in the cheekbones,
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We are different. |
You know, I'm sorry, but I'm just a machine.
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Take the car. |
Take me to the car.
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I will drop everything soon. |
I will drop everything soon.
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Take the car. |
Take me to the car.
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I will drop everything soon. |
I will drop everything soon.
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On the bus, I stared out the window.
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A hundred years about not mine, he swept away everything with his hand, I toil like a savage.
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They mow the harvest, they will not let the fire wait for autumn.
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Autumn is here again, meet sir and call sadness.
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If this is a blues, then let him fall forever.
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Alone in the crowd - a gloomy little man.
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I feel sorry for the whole world when dogs whine at night,
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You have to drop everything, you forget the barracks and start.
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I’m going into the depths, choose which point to get out for me -
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Where the path is not a rogue, because I know - they are waiting in the doorways.
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Offer to drink and blow; |
f*ck sissy whores.
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I go out and go there, I am a garden jester.
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Six months have passed since you decided everything, and I did not see the temple.
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I'm yours, but I know it stinks of steel.
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Noah sucker at the bus stop. |
Where are you, my fish?
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Be with me, and let your heart be at least soldered. |