Lyrics МаНгУС Семантик - Мысли - листья

My thoughts-leaves fell to the ground by winter,
Dreams are scorched, and roots are pulled
On New Year's Eve to the places of our relatives, in those days in memory,
When the Fornit is still not screaming about food.
When the ear is filled with the sense of childhood books.
Hurry here with them, a sparrow step to the cockroach!
So once Chukovsky Korney introduced food for the mind ...
After all, often the adversity of which is a huge shadow,
In fact, they are small at the root.
The book came to life with the voice of my mother, do you believe how?
Better than hologram 2Pac.
Information ration clicks, expands
As you grow up, you are a human
Like filling a syringe behind a stick.
From fairy tales to fantasy and world classics.
From hide-and-seek and classics to shakes, where fate will overtake the steam ...
Sum, meters in squares, veil, joy of the miracle of birth
And the birth of you as a teacher, so that a miracle does not grow into a monster.
This is, after all, the mainstream of parents!
Such thoughts of people stretch like a bowstring
The bow of opportunity with the arrow of ideas.
Shoot down the sleeping areas that flew into the shadows
We strive for the firebird of dreams ...
Many of these firebirds will burn, pour ashes into memory
So sometimes melancholy falls to the memories of prostrate
To the days of carefree bliss.
Lo and behold, the phoenix of experience has already risen from the ashes taking care of you.

So, clinging to the heat of a dream, burning our fingers, we burn time.
How burnt out Moscow drove the French to swear,
So burnt out impressions, rising from the ashes,
They shout with the desire to rush away after the plumage of the birds of happiness,
The zeal of experience filled the quiver of arrows with those same ideas.
The cycle of harvests and fires, like grass fell in the fields,
After all, blood renewal is all our wounds.
The time machine is a memory!
Nostalgia is waving to us among hyenas,
Maybe so, approving, hug.
It is inherent in everyone because this thirst to have,
Craving for the Motherland, blood for the birthmark ...
Whether it's a conflict in a hot spot
Between Scyllus and Charybdis, Caribbean in a rolling tanker,
Or an exile is ruining in a quarry, a mine,
In the space program, in the space suit.
Not in the atmosphere, but in the control room of the orbital station.
No matter how far, the location of human labor has become attached,
Consciousness can always drive us a placebo from our thoughts, each personal Dunkirk,
Like a British soldier in his forties in the last century!
A retreat into memory, like a march in an immortal regiment.
Of course, a person is completely free of the calendar with sheets
Throw away the stages of the havens of your path, like the stages of missiles.
The skin on the snake is like past lives ...
But Prince Vladimir could not disown everything.
Delightful squabbles of consciousness, seething with Solaris, gave birth to questions,
In which, through Shawshank, Dufrein grew!
Everything is in your head, because the chest there is much more cheerful
Wealth at the head of the Sultanate of Bahrain.
Well, in my next chapter, while the flight is in my thoughts
Electron at the time of the New Year to his relatives ...

Cognition of consciousness, the concept of memory,
In these groans, our Guardian Angel.
From the cradle to the grave of meditation Magellan,
But often we are attracted only around the world ... lamps.