Текст песни Spa-City - О себе

... centimeters turned into kilometers
Impregnable armored doors,
Santa blurred northern winds,
Only numbers among the necessary news.
Redeemed the light, sat near the window,
Remembers the far city of the native
For how old and who whose wife,
I wanted to once again become good and simple ...

And birds in heaven are probably better
The scale of the fuss of chained to the ground,
On the faces and in the eyes - as if as soon as
Sat the body, while be warm ...

Promised not to write anymore, delete the number.
I promised with caustic smoke, not to ride.
Promised the train long-range stuff.
Promised pigeons on the square not feed.
Drips the stronger in the kitchen old crane,
Competing with the mechanism of presented clocks.
Dust without work leather suitcase,
Stores memories and smell of trains ...
The monotone signal will be a stubborn timer.
Inserts the tulle in the morning ray bed.
Being irritated, on the exhalation he froze,
And the years flew - 28 April ...
Not all in this world follows from gilding -
Someone has to stand someone
Drown in the tavern from the severity of work,
In the pocket Gray photo of the format 3x5 ...

And birds in heaven are probably better
The scale of the fuss of chained to the ground,
On the faces and in the eyes - as if as soon as
Sat the body, while be warm ...

Promised not to write anymore, delete the number.
I promised with caustic smoke, not to ride.
Promised the train long-range stuff.
Promised pigeons on the square not feed.
Promised, promised, promised, promised
Caustic smoke is light not to ride ...
Promised the train long-range stuff.
Promised, promised ...

And birds in heaven are probably better
The scale of the fuss of chained to the ground,
On the faces and in the eyes - as if as soon as
Sat the body, while be warm ...