Lyrics поэт без усов - Извините, но мест больше нет.

Now turn around and come
you are out of place here at all
Come on sobbed whiner
stutter , gulping air
not a hero, but I would like them to be
will you stand disadvantaged
with the world hypochondriac vyazhesh events
and without them, you're essentially toe
hurt , huh? already under the breast colitis
it was good to be blind
you're whole life building a house
from there you will be dust
velvet heart mothy
mouldering in a dead oak garden
Breastfed children with love
wish to burn in hell
every day the previous echoes
sometimes think I wish I had
share with someone joy and sorrow
all satellites only on the moon
and if you're sick there rveshsya
but these do not take into astronauts
tree chopping ax at the root
off the ground in the sense
tomorrow you wake up in the same bed
on the pillow wet with tears
you're not the
you again with those
you are in the system of artificial dreams
all the knives as evil dull
mockingly torn rope
and the window will not let the charm
keeps grinning ukromkim
you can not find a place
and generally could never
all dream to return to childhood
or just pull the trigger
We remember your mother baked a cake
and now it seems insipid
you silent
visco
the door bell
open the
Inlet abyss
muzzle , forehead viciously freezes
requisitions fear the unknown
press the correct score of
last straw cracked