Текст песни 4 секунды шума - 730 шагов

Poem
730 steps
Introduction.

- Breathing?
Are you still breathing?
How could you not die
Under one roof
With name
Gentle her ?!
Listen,
That's what:
Show these windows,
What a pity
Your being.
In the window-sill itself
Like glass.
Level your body to the ground.
You are less than nothing.
Do not think any more.
She will call you a coward.
From anger becomes fun:
Pave blindly
On her nerves
Sunset-in love
Mash.

At night
Seven-story echo
She breaks off her thin lips.
This is my
731st
Step from the Lord God.

1.
The skin is whiter than the walls of this room.
Cold morning.
Dumbfounded, vainly
The body is on Moscow streets,
Eyes raking,
Zaspanno squinting.

What day of the week?
I lost count.
I did not write a single word
For the last…
How many are there?
Months? Years?
Or was only a couple of hours?
I would like to believe,
What is a dream?
He closes his eyes on the bolt.

Come on. Go on.
Toss the cross
Its pride
In the middle
Ribs.
Carry on Golgotha
From home to work,
From the corridor to the rooms
Unsaved,
Wiped off.

Run away.
Smash your feet
On the consolation of the platform,
Come to your hometown
AND…
The city is full of memory.
The city is pierced by you,
The city is plowed with walks,
Where are you my hand
I was not afraid to hold.

Even now I am ironed
by hair
Without you
my first March rain.
And I wait for all the addresses,
It seems to me - you will come.

Please come.
This is a separate world.
I instead of wallpaper
All our photos
At night I look like a film.

It seems to me that not you
Crucified on the social network,
Scratching a thin syllable,
Where exactly we are not.
It seems to me that not you
Turning off the path.
You certainly would not be able to.
It's not me
I spend the night under your door,
I look like a puppy:
"Well, please believe me."
It's not us.
We pass, half-healthy,
I do not dilute alcohol with tea
After meeting you accidentally,
With the thoughts "Bitch! Well, do not be bored! "

It seems.
It seems.
It seems.

I will turn now -
You smile.
You.
I live in your arms.

I sort the bed for two.
As if I'm not alone.

2.
Name.
As carved on stone
Fingers.
It is a spell,
Dancing
Feverish breathing.
Like the death of all trees
In the middle of May.
So I do not write poetry,
It's a silent cry.
Tear them out,
exchange,
tear to shreds,
Having recognized your name
In my every line.

How ridiculous are all our points.
We are trying to complete
Unfinished,
Referring to the impossibility,
On callousness,
On the past,
Other,
Inability to feel thinner.

And I miss your voice,
When I suffocate at night.

3.
I do not even have to go to anyone,
Do you know.
Of course, this is not the case.
Just in the world live seven billion,
And there is absolutely no one to talk to.
It's not in the youth
Maximalism,
Fist when in the chest,
And to promise that
Not in this, they say, life
I'll be with someone.
We are not small children.
There will be more,
Do you know…
Only without a precipice
somewhere inside.

Business in three months.
When we, not knowing each other's name,
Were in love and happy.
When you pass by in the bus the "fifth"
We recognized each other's eyes.
When we were so close,
Ever after.

There is no other God but the Lord.
But Bogoravin was
air.
Lips. Dimple. Moles. Vote.
Neck. Arms. Touch. Hair.
Your shade of heaven is subtle.

You are my endless youth,
With which I (in my 21)
already separately.

4.
The worst of punishments,
The longest -
Memory
And Signs.
On the same floor
Triangle
Despair,
Happiness
And outsiders.
You are welcome,
Hide them
For something white.
As if there was no mud,
Pretend that behind these windows
Do you remember about who I am,
When I, scalded, like boiling water,
I bring my joy and sorrow
To split in half,
Forgetting, h