Макулатура - ножевое
текст песни

In these snowdrifts, I bury my letters to you
On weekends they bloom at night
Someone's blood, teeth and beer, like snowdrops
Dancing freaks in the arch at an electric factory

On these streets you can not get lost as you want
Everywhere you stumble on a new craft pub
The absence of you goes beyond your authority
As the head of one republic financed by the grace of Allah

You are not all over the world, and at every specific step
Under the crack of spitting punk concerts
I draw a bridge from our woven hands
It would be seen from anywhere in the city

I examined all the faces in the car - it's not you
But still I imagine myself a heavy, fat guy
Lover of khinkaley, he has flowers in pots in pots
On the windowsill, "hide behind me in the case of terrorist attacks"

Books - like root crops in the market, without any signs
None of them will reduce the distance between sleep and reality
Between your and my bed
And the letters are pushed, like at the station

Frightened passengers leaving a ghost city
Each for himself, and I look at them through a smile
I have nowhere to run, and in principle I would agree to knife
While my lips are still smelling of you

I rush like a train under the feet in this city
I'm a dog and I need to find at least one of your hair
Like a bomb and drugs, dragged on the image
For which I go down to the bottom and get out in the sun

Snow melts, and smells begin to confuse me
In the evening, cars, like animals in the forest, wake up
I carefully watch while I'm waiting for you from the parking lot
Every day in the metropolis, the search for what cannot be described

I look at these faces, and on each of its imprint
How in puddles the city left its distorted reflection
Inspires fear, gives hope and immediately takes it away
Life is measured by purchases and utility bills

People run from this forest to their dilapidated huts
The places of our meetings will be my city card
Slopped with rotten teeth, rejected and humiliated
Who did not have time to grab the victim, exchangers and pawnshops

I move slowly to you, washing off my past
Web of temporary residues and all these tables
I was caught a hundred times everyday vulgarity
But my story was just a training for you

How to not lose your smell in this hostile environment?
The goods collected on credit are breaking their bags
I also need to dial all the necessary hastily
But while my fingers smell like you, I will not dissolve in this boredom

The beginning of your day will become my deadline
I went through these routes, anticipating something intangible
I substitute the face of the rays of your awakening, waiting
My poems as the prey that the dog brings to the owner

I rush like a train under the feet of this city
I am a dog, there is enough hope of a look and teams
Guard your books forgotten in the passage room
Just live this day or grab your teeth in a throat