Lyrics скептический - пандора

These are not statistics holidays like in Stockholm
Eternal Companions Prozac with a headache
All the same prose and ordinary view of the desert
In pseudo-asceticism, discontent with simple things
Around only dampness, smoke and addiction to noir
Seasonal mourning, persecution, terrible trauma
Your normality is a fiction of a sick principle.
What eats you with tears and whims
Ghosts ride on chariots of snow
The beauty of dawn kills vhs cassette
Is autumn dead? I'm a fan of necro romance, really
Inhale the smell of the skin as if the character Buttgereyt
Blackness will not hide the edges of your incarnations
All this rot directs to the surrogate world.
Just wake up, collect your details in a puzzle
A gray-haired old man still paints the streets red

Black looks out of human eyes
Black is looking at us now
From the corner, and who opened this Pandora's box?
All the food will be sent in the present
Black looks out of human eyes
Black is looking at us now
From the corner, and who opened this Pandora's box?
All the food will be sent in the present

Seconds put pressure on the larynx with a mechanical press
From the office of heaven there is no news
It's not interesting to live like this, in crumpled paper.
Living poems by their own concepts
Bringing up a sweat playing hide and seek
With me, dreams are discouraged by a thick wall
Like a barricade like Mike's white stripe
Stretches my life but I know the way home
Flesh-wrapped where does the bus take me?
Gone voice is your primordial cosmos, seriously
Siberian climate, and again puberty
Deja vu again shows the way to the graves
And to the shops that are lured by the windows
You need to wash your head of dirt from the inside
Disharmony in the sound of a drainpipe
The city is sick, the blackness becomes more noticeable