Lyrics Центр - Птаха умер

Slim:

The ring closed, again twenty-five,
Stopudovo couple of hours to stand here,
There is either an accident, or repair of asphalt,
And now there is an accumulation of iron, rubber and plastic.
Chanson from the next basin, from behind
Telochka on the gelding climbs forward without pale.
These plugs are a stupid loss of time,
The battery charge is flashing on the phone.
Well, at least you stay with me, please,
I'm here like without arms, you really matter to me.
So many people who need something,
And I need something, and we are glad to each other.
To raise the lave, you need to be in touch,
It does not matter where you are - in the region or on the Moscow Ring Road.
Yes, and Ptah pinned completely inopportunely,
He surprised everyone, because he liked to surprise,
He liked to play with fire and played bad,
I hope you will be met there as expected.
And I, as usual, dressed for a long time,
I tried to find black and scored on the tie,
But I can not see it in time - already without fifteen seven,
Another night I was flying somewhere to Siberia.
We'll hand your ticket, cut out the couplets
And we'll write a song about it in the album.

I would have a couple of hours, one hundred and twenty minutes
And I could make it, but seconds flee,
And I will not return them, the day is already changing,
I'm late, sorry, unrealistic traffic jams.

Ptaha:

I like to reflect, to throw my thoughts,
Brake on a dream, think about life,
Chat about fate.
Why, why, for whom I live?
What do I carry and what will people say about me
Well then, when I'm gone.
Probably, like everyone just throwing dumbly into the pit,
A tear on my cheek, my mother's hysterics.
But I'm ashamed and scared -
All such elegant lying here,
Has made such porridge.
Youth, youth, old age follows her,
I did not think, to be honest, that I had so little left.
Has got, has caught unawares,
It's just that death decided that today is my day,
Today I'm fucked.
From the world there was only a poison,
Mom was right - the road led to nowhere.
And these letters are clumsy, left on paper,
To whom are they needed in such a situation?
After all, if I do not, then the lines are dead,
I do not even think that someone will remember them by driving posts.
Eyes closed, flying a year,
Cries, wreaths and only one question on the soul -
Where are they? Well, those two, my friends?
To see "forgive" to tell them is no longer fate.

Guf:

How long have I not slept? Three days, maybe four,
Locked from the inside and I sit in my apartment,
I do not eat anything at all, I drink tea and read books,
It would be too much for a rest, it would be a topic.
Curtains curtains, behind the curtains of the city,
In the city, the people and the people live all this.
And I pret the image on the monitor
And for the time being, tea and a soft binding.
Somewhere I did not leave the room,
My hands are shaking - I look like a grim robot.
Both tubes are turned off all these days -
I need the sounds of this game and silence.
Important events on the streets of Liberty-city -
Local residents and debris under cover.
In this interval, between concerts of Centr'a,
I managed to pass sixty-four percent.
In a dream tends, damn, when we on tour?
I do not remember, I have to look in the phone.
Come on, good, are you serious chtoli?
Do we have an airplane today? So, it's calmer.
Another strange message from an unknown number -
Type Ptaha died, but, that's even more fun.
It is necessary to collect things now and to be nominated
Do it in a snap, an hour later the end of the registration.
From Zamoskvorechye on the express train in Domodedovo,
Right now his meeting and tell you about this sms.
We stand together, we all laugh together
And we will record an album about this sad song.

At least an hour, sixty minutes,
I can do it in any way, there the guys are already waiting.
And here he is Ptakha, alive and cursing terribly,
Nitsche like that, you have fucked up jokes (you have fucking jokes).