Текст песни dobbro - buddta

more cautiously torn petals of children's bellies closes the next station children's photos in the mountain ranges of dusty albums you probably do not remember these and did not see my memory is on the matte surface of the film sticky touching the face of the child who was told full of shabby echo of the station's voice that you can not drink from every night do not climb heavy and complicated consciousness in the delicate tissues of one's own childhood can not recall the tales of self-composed there only bolts of engine oil, an ellipsis and factor-2, and a fairy tale then About somebody lost somewhere here and there with someone's briefcase went one day somehow into some school went one day and somehow caught ravens and they croaked grave laughs because of poplars and bushes and a lot of faces on the stones were curving up in surprise eyebrows from mortal seizures shot a glance at me and somehow I could not find my father's grave. Where did she go to sleep? Maybe some people ask me. I loved to go to my grave with my grandmother to look at the gravestones through the cemetery and she certainly said such a young woman was I have tried with the height of my six and a half years to comprehend death the fragrances of the season will overwhelm you with a head like in this picture where at the age of five you took the wet hand of a wave of the black sea and I am sure that you can fly like that in happy ones from twenty to thirty and there
maybe we'll say goodbye or that's what you have on your beautiful plates. I'm hungry in the evenings. I ate the hamsun quite different people before my eyes, everything floats and laughs. We slept on the same benches. We lose the freken book. It's almost like listening to my funny voice of three years ago and imagine that there are whole temporary people who are the same who are not a second and have died as if there is a memory and a previous life as if I were once