Текст песни Джем - 08. Снисхождение высших

The most fun is not a game
Black painted white wall
In the fields two arrows
To Hell, to Nothingness
Someone will say - trifles,
But to each his own

There's a bit of a choice - to become or to leave,
Here they consider games of stupidity with people,
Here is the prologue written,
And then it goes,
He looks for his thoughts
To each his own

Who counts gold, who is on fire,
Whose soul is stung by the truth in blood,
Who will write the spell - fragile glass,
Who has remained superfluous
To each his own

Torn drawings do not erase tears,
And at dawn with madness you just can not escape.
Because they are stacked,
They are inscribed, and that's it,
Even the impossible
To each his own

Serves the old sins
Every sacrament is blood, like poetry
And the crucified life flies on the edge,
Cursed, curse
To each his own

And dreaming bold from sunset to ...
Until the dawn of the disgusting
To each his own