Плакин М. - Окно на застёжке
текст песни

I always write about all sorts of bullshit
About myself, about what I see in the window
And I look into it at night, as if
The morning will really appear there
I look out the window at night as if
The morning will really appear in it
I've been taking cringe in myself for a long time
And although Babangida is right
I loved the ones he dissed
Maybe I like fakeness
I look out the window at night as if
The morning will really appear there
Nabokov is a good poet, but he said
That there is no rhyme to the word "truth"
What about “baldness”?or "out of the wall"?
And that “from the wall...” we need to come up with a context
Nabokov said there is no rhyme to the word truth
What about baldness?...
One poet told me that the future
It's interesting only because it
Increases the volume of the past
More space for nostalgia
I look out the window at night as if
The morning will really appear there
Pushkin died golden
Pushkin died for the Latin of the Russian language
And became chocolate like a hare
Music is everywhere - can you hear it?
You're fake, you're fake:
The note of laughter is high
Sadness takes over
The sound is familiar, the sound is alive
How often have you heard
Where it quietly developed
I'm a long time ago
I look out the window at night as if
The morning will really appear there