Текст песни ZG. - Рука гитары

I want to turn off my head
It is solidly walled up with masonry.
The eyelids are dull, the eyebrows are sad.
The face pretended to be lead.
I want to turn off the fuel
On which the soul crawls.
Until the end, along the line drawn
Until the smile of a native face.

I want to throw myself a bird
That in the morning I dream gloomily.
What brings disagreement
And does not tolerate dull speeches.
I want to be a stop
On which fate is a rope.
Driven down the rickety streets
Patterns of living lights.

They are waiting for the beast of steel
Maneuvering, not knowing how.
Wade among the constant
A terribly tired animal.
And behind the scenes, in a split second,
A lonely text will flash.
He is a string from an indistinct guitar,
In a cloud of dust disappeared.

I want to throw out the old
Something strange, too small.
I want languid notes
Personality on the path to instruct.
I want to be in a quiet hysterics,
Rediscovering America.
Songs to compose about daily life,
Believing in a new life.

I want to rush like a bird
That races sloppily across the sky.
What is constant
And he repeats urgent speeches.
I want to be a stop
On which fate is a rope.
Driven down the painted streets
Patterns of living lights.