Lyrics Грусняффка - Пропуская Сквозь Пальцы Свет

Glasses of cold minibuses cry
And wires frozen in the city
Several days without stories
Well, in principle, as always

The lonely winter asphalt is crying
Under the stream of bystanders
In the gray crowd to the favorite viola
I'm looking for people like you

Soiling my thoughts with the dream of you
About our second meeting with you
From the vale of my sorrows in my sleep
You will come and I will be speechless

And passing the light through my fingers
With which I tear the strings of the soul
Hello from a distant world
And you write me your answer

In the meantime, I'm in a cold minibus
Having touched all the glass, I cry
Taking poems out of my jacket pocket
That mean nothing to you

And passing the light through my fingers
With which I tear the strings of the soul
Hello from a distant world
And you write me your answer

In the meantime, I'm in a cold minibus
I look like all the glasses, I cry
Taking poems out of my jacket pocket
That mean nothing to you