Текст песни нас трое тех кто еще остался собою - вера надежда и алкоголик

paper heroes in non-alcoholic everyday life
treat themselves with labor and the weekend confuse the name-day of the girlfriends
flattened over the couches of forgotten clubs
in the chill out zone where the melting minutes are melting
in the morning I remember the vestiges of my dreams vaguely
night from Sunday to Saturday as if
There is no more time to be damned to please
the era of fast food of religions and the paid god
deep house in thoughts viruses in timing
The shirts and jumpers in rhombuses are my robe
Inhale I hide behind the smell of vinyl vices from the threshold
There is no password for inputs and no oxygen
a week without rest I'm freezing under a fig
but only
the fine line between gin and tonic
does not allow me to fall into the abyss of lack of will ....

I lose a share and wet time hurriedly
I'm under the shovel for a pain
The rhythms and groans are intertwined with the fingers in the agony of the dance
bite the hertz trying to stay
in consciousness among alcohol and heat
behind the counter, the shakers are howling in a hurry with the longing
breathing through the walls of the plebeian weary drop fatigue in the glasses
My tired fairies crumple their hems together with faith and vermouth
I shared time with me alternately changing ash to moisture
mashed pimples and fingerprints of girlfriends hidden
for the smell of absinthe
the illusion fades away giving birth to 3 cents
delirium until morning through the body and fluorescent
burn in a fire of fatigue and apple essence
taxi pulls from the heart to the center of doubt
with those I have eaten my youth before Friday's resurrection

and we grow old at these bar counters
we make plans to build ourselves heroes
we are three of those who still remained
faith hope and alcoholic