Lyrics Osenniy flow - Ежевика под дождем

Often tupit navigator, if I ask him where I am.
Happiness to call an hour to sleep in the past two weeks?
In fact, everything is much simpler than you presented to me:
The tail at your love has peeled off and paws have fallen off.
You would know how many passed and how many burns
You were smitten, spoke like Decembrists about wives.
On the pier is not a breeze. Yes, my path is thorny, hard.
Goodbye my love. It's a pity. Without three points. I went.
Happened in snot extinguished. Pedals ask porridge.
My middle finger waves every important page.
Views, likes, sales - look, like, go away.
But how many lines were on the table? - How many Scrooge papers.
Go away, disappear, stay. I run do not count me and stations.
Tramp without money aimless processions burdens knapsack.
I hide my eyes from the hood of the light of geolocations.
Not good to me. Too bad if you are fluent on your fingers!

I sprouted like blackberry bushes under the rain.
In whom there is nothing - others see the same empty.
Hey speech therapist, what's in your head? - Wonderful porridge at the botan:
Beautiful Vasilis is full of here, but not every Kotova
Land. Land. I see the light in the smoke of the gateways.
My legs are short, just because the backing.
I lie about the Wi-Fi, if the carts for portak on the stock.
As if not so. Though in the ditch behind the boards in bad weather.
Dark and overcast on the streets of the city of Peter
Salty air blows through the wounds - I am grateful to the winds
I'm not afraid of blindness - I look at the magic ball.
And if you smoke cigarettes, then you are a practical charm.
Wipe tear from the eye. I am not afraid of the evil eye.
Do you remember the first time "love you" then said?
All of my tons of pens shovels of the abyss buckets.
Tea with hugs after touching the places of kissing.

Yesterday I dreamed about you in a dress: there is a veil, organs.
Dvizhuhi, congratulations, rings - light Fata-morgana.
Do you remember, have we deceived all that we are married?
Broken glass. There are words-bayonets, knives-mats.
We do not write wills. They promised to love with you.
Forget the verbal disabilities of those "Underground Broadcasts".
The fact that in my glass is poured - it does not look like tea.
Cloak. Stop. Tram. I am your passerby.