найтивыход - зачем
текст песни

Touches became something else
Drawing patterns on my body with my fingers
Hunkered on Sunday morning
Along a deserted alley in the center
And songs are sung inside me
And youth breathes inside her
It's a pity that the cries of strangers
No one will hear
Unanswered
Wasabi addressees in italics
Remained at my fingertips
The lines themselves won't be finished
And they will soon die in a beautiful dance
Narrow-minded people in the subway
I can reach them with my hands
With wild, drunken marches
Spilling into express trains
This is prose about a meek moment
This is either poetry or songs
It's a pity that there is no one to sing these lines
And the sirens' voices have faded
Half-dead people in the train cars
They don't know about the night tonight
In these gentle hand movements
Ospreys of urges beat with you
Not to fall asleep, as usual, at midnight
Through the air With raw gulps
Suffocating, wrapped in fabric
And living only by her hair
I would follow you forever
Even to my own or to someone else's lands
I am writing to you about love
And then such a "what the fuck"
There is no life to search for meaning
Or to think about a dark future
Or with those stupid poems
To tear myself apart on the globe
As usual, without screams and noise
I am building a cult inside
Frozen cola in a can
A stroke awaits me in the evening
I remain at zero, as usual
I am lost in hackneyed songs
I may have weighed inside myself
But you are not interested in this
I stayed the night before dreams
But they only stood at a distance
Only cats purred from the streets
And tin and salt ran through my veins
I am dying again as a nobody
I only feel your hands
I probably won't leave Ashes
I will dissolve into the waves of broadcasts
Half-dead people in train cars
They don't know about tonight
In these gentle movements of hands
A throng of urges beat against you
Not to fall asleep, as usual, at midnight
Through the air in damp gulps
Suffocating, wrapped in fabrics
And living only on her hair
I would follow you forever
Even to your distances, even to someone else's
I am writing to you about love
And then such a "what the fuck"
What the fuck. What the fuck. Forget it