Текст песни Анастасия Никитина - Раз. Два. Три.

The sky is gray, dull.
Impregnated with gunpowder.
Upstairs still smoke smoke from the shots.
Cartridges are lying somewhere below.

You know, now somehow in an especially calm way.
Not like before the storm, but like after ...

Already.

Already someone has released up a dozen of silver fast killers.
They flew with a piercing whistle up.

And you know, they will fly to the sky.
And we are no longer ...
We are already here.
We will be forever.

Ridiculous hostages of the Earth.
We will not even attempt to escape from this planet.

Reason shouts to us that the end is near.
And the long awaited by all Happy End will not be at all.

We were branded.
It seems even at birth.

And now chained.
Although you know, they will not hold.
Although you know, we have loaded pistols.
Migraines frequent.
Tea cools without a reason even.
And lack of tenderness. Human

Even if we go crazy, it will be strange for us to go under a hail of bullets.
We will shoot ourselves.
No matter who.
How fast.

The main thing is clear and coherent.
Get straight to the head.

And the goal will not be.
There will be only money and people who are mad from the cold.
And hands, probably, will recognize anyone who even acquires a little.

You know, the streets smelled of gunpowder.
And the candles in the churches are lit in the future with lighters.
And only the batteries are warm.
True, many yesterday turned off. For non-payment.
And to cross the street to a red light - has become commonplace.
Yes, and cut the bread with a plastic knife, as in childhood, now no wonder.
By the way, on the Arbat they demolished the houses and put up tiny pink mansions like those of Barbie.
Once upon a time, miniature girls played with bows instead of rubber bands. By the way, also pink.

Do you remember when they once said "pink glasses"?
And now only gray. Blurred by exhaust fumes.
And yes, the cupcakes are now with a taste of smog.

And the people ...
They have no taste.
No
True.

We became Empty.
Like cans from under lemonade.
You know, there are such glass, different colors. They are easy to beat.
And once, in the courtyards, they were shot at. From innocuous slingshots.

But now the time is different.
Although.
Let's repeat.

-Gods- Comrades! Stand in a row. Come on, be brave.

You have guns loaded.
Cartridges are extremely successful.
The weapon seems ready to be fired.

-You can?
-Shoot.

Time.
Two.
Three.

People- Bottles are bent to the ground.

You have a cold, calm and a bit arrogant, mad look at you.
You are crazy!
Do you hear, honey?

Our game of madmen has grown into life.
Our brain has often begun to reverse.
We have too much adrenaline.
You know, it's terrible that we are not afraid of anything.

We are not even afraid to die.

And we learned.
Easy shoot.
Kill without looking.

Recharge
A new batch of bottles - people.

We shoot.

Time.
Two.
Three.