Lyrics Типси Тип и Zambezi - Собеседник

on illuminated films the clothes are not only winter
light drizzles and dust is not dark dark blue
crumpled pictures hoarse trembling timbre
in a straitjacket, his forehead quickly ran into the wall
here and in bed, where they throw the balamutes
brutally kicked in the back with where, like camels
spit but do not know saliva
in a shelter where any of our
my interlocutor is old over the years became pale
dictated to me about places texts I wrote text
interrupted so for good reason people in warm hats
hawala like a child a fairy tale excitedly and eagerly
wait, i'm writing until you roll the bread pulp
show what the berries were like
what kind of world was normal while was normal
answer what else for may what tuesdays
Thursdays time stretches like those Hungarians
tourniquets and worms that knit hands to the interlocutor
jesters and devils hurt with antibiotics
mouths are sewn up, jaws are clamped by bolts

why is everything gone somewhere
tell me old man
why is fate us
so patted

my interlocutor is the last one to
saw this life not only through the window
told what were outside
beautiful places are not limited by walls
have fallen and this is my taste
in the background the sun has not seen him for a long time here
only clouds of lead
through them it will not break when
changing day to night and so in a circle
but do not understand what time the darkness is around here
and he said everything, told how it was
until the earth has cooled down