Текст песни найтивыход - я б навеки пошёл за тобой

Touch become something else,
fingers on the body painting patterns
mansoval Sunday morning
on a deserted alley in the center.

and songs sung within me
and youth within her breathing.
pity that the cries of others
not hear anybody.
no answer.

destinations, wasabi with italics
remained at their fingertips
not dopishutsya lines themselves,
and will die soon in a beautiful dance.

narrow-minded people in the subway,
I reach them hands
rabid marches drunk
spilled in ambulances flights.
Prose is a meek moment,
It is whether the poem, or a song,
pity that there is no one to sing those lines
sirens and voices silenced.

half-dead people in the cars,
I do not know about the night today,
in these gentle hand movements
Ospreys beat urge you.
not sleep, as usual, at midnight,
through the air moist sips
panting, wrapped in cloth
and living only her hair.

I'd gone for ever for you,
even in their, albeit in the wrong distance,
I am writing to you about love
and then a "yes skhuyali".
I do not have to look for life in the sense of
or thinking about the future of the dark
or those silly verses
rupture of the globe.
as usual, without shouting and noise
I raise up in the cult
frozen cola bank
me in the evening waiting for a stroke.
I remain at zero, as usual,
I am lost in the hackneyed songs
I'm inside, it can be weighed,
but you are not interested.

I stayed for a night in front of dreams
but they just stood at a distance
Only a street cat purred
and veins tin salt.
I'm dying again by anyone
Only your hands feel.
I probably will not go out of the ashes
I dissolve the waves broadcast.

half-dead people in the cars,
they did not know about the night today,
in these gentle hand movements
Ospreys beat urge you.
not sleep, as usual, at midnight,
through the air moist sips
panting, wrapped in cloth
and living only her hair.

I'd gone for ever for you,
even in yours, though in the wrong distance,
I am writing to you about love
and then a "yes skhuyali".