Lyrics ВАНТУЗ - ВОСЬМАЯ НОТА

You are very interesting to me if you are full of strength and cheerfulness
We meet by chance because the ball is small
Among the songs without meaning, I have the eighth note
I am the eighth wonder of the light of speech turnover
I am careful not to control myself
Probably I'm doing it on purpose
Is it worth while to be friends with me if a lie is my girlfriend
Or we will meet enemies on the other side of the circle
Choosing choose ... and playing thinking
After all, the world has a shaky edge but syllables under the amount
Everything revolves in a circle coming back again
The characters come alive from one word
True as if the snow in the sugar falls in the summer
And it becomes a stretch of something that was banned
I play with voices so that the current under the hair
Coloring the air with a combination of words for hours that's all!

And already in this verse I will be in the role of soldier
I like the word immortal shooting like a machine gun
My avatar is run as a time of the will of the prophet
My armor is my karma my attack without a term
I died on the barricade but came back to life again
Carelessness in front of my growing many times
Without sense and without mercy like raging elements
Poems I write creating worlds like a messiah
Schizophrenia of illusions and African dances
Where the Russian syllable defeated my words foreigners
I see there on the mountain the Negro hangs on the crucifix
In a dress, a monk sends a crowd of people to a curse
While on the roof of the psychiatric hospital, the slate bursts from the cry
From the inability to leave the soul from the sphere
Good and evil in one vat stirring a spoon in a circle
I'm obsessed with cooking potash soup

Sparkle breathing creatures into the dimensions of the poem
I hear high notes in these moments of insight
So frankly and clearly as if shining with words
Something is liberated and it controls the lips
So it is not possible to think of only giving birth through torment
With pain, children are born unique sounds
Their perfect proportions are only touched by people
Words like slender legs of the phrase beautiful breasts
Saves the world of beauty all revel in it
Logic like a tailor sews the size of an idea
High podium fame and perfection burns out
No one knows the reason no one saves her
The Savior will return again and believe this
And nobly crossed his regalia are measured
But not a crown of thorns for the sake of living creatures
And because there is a dead man, but there is no poetry

I utter words and move my hands
How do spiders weave what is called poetry
And if someone asks, And what is my job
My work is This is the eighth note