Текст песни найтивыход, kommunikaция - хрущёвки и резаные руки

Why live with empty words, if you let him inside?
in the well, where the cold and damp, to live out the days,
killing the last important, and no one can find me.
find my heart in agony compressed someone.
I take all the words back; selling tickets, and go on foot
where anyone and has never been places.
here too cold and stuffy, shivering in the body takes fire.
for the cost of your ego sold to someone, but sorry,
and a little hot, splashing blood on the pillow,
doubting each new grinding the bottom?
I find myself accidentally find you somehow,
on the street, among the crowd I see his face.
and there is no way back, and have no road into the distance,
where so much wanted one,
because there is already all burned everything
dry up the tears on the cheeks of your soon.
and fuck these sentiments in an envelope?
He gave all recently sold his soul boredom.
LOMO photos were only shadows,
Khrushchev, but cuts in the hands.

for the cost of the heat in your room, painfully
Save all in the heart of old age.
verses remain, choke and veins
will walk a current level nebolno,
it is in our past, I fold and cut a
through glands cold fingers the way.
you can live to hate those songs,
but only in my mind whether the patient.
quotes from books will write on the palms,
in two hundred will pass among the dead home.
Kaposi not cure already, that's for sure,
time-tested, last winter.
all these phrases, pressure, trip narcoleptic
dreams under the salt and spice
fuck gone all suffering time,
I wake up this morning in the slums of Togliatti.
I happily think, soon rotten,
These cozy weekdays only hot sobs
next to strangers themselves to find, but if
back - no one will come looking for us.
believe me.
believe me.

when you're near me, I forget how I breathe,
I generally forget all my problems. on the ball -
we vmeste_ not accidentally parted
burst balloons and fly to cart soul.
do not interfere - neither I nor the variety of different buzz.
here too stuffy and cold,
we are too young to feel this youth.
too young to just not care about fashion.
declarations of love, on the wall near the garbage.
not mine. I am dark and ty_ chto_ know perfectly well this is not accidental.
your eyes are blue, like my neighbor,
I have a memory of your pics in the fucking besedke_ Jam and all sorrow.

I printed myself like that, because I was so used.
I want to live in a small town named Svetlozavodsk.
I predumat for every day exactly a thousand nicknames,
but so not to get used to a change of their own microcosms.

we cold autumn - fucking called "July".
I feed the words "love", collecting stones and bullets.
I fuck with the fact that today find a way out here
Tomorrow will return again in the rain and wind on the filthy street.

Tomorrow will return the memory and forced to return debts.
Help me not to be like them - these and those.
and without that I know that he will always remain - others
and words can not say that it wanted to say.

bird show how deep and sad sky.
and the stars will show us that the sky is not the bottom.
poetry - Huet is that still we bowl of sweet bread,
do not miss me, yet all of them do not swallow again Winamp.

mind around the wine, and thought the whole reason.
Why are you silent kogda_ I feel so much to us?
it's time to have treated those who tamed.
stepping on the fragile crust, washed down with them a valid, pasta.

for the tide to the moon response. for love in goromny response.
go fuck mechty_ and you go with them, too.
We will not, but I - a voice in the microphone.
sifmoniey void. admitting that there is one.
admitting that there is one.