Придурок - Букварель
текст песни

The faces of the Moon prostitute are making the faces
The leaves of aspen were thought out
As an artist, having lost his mind,
I entered you at hundreds of paintings

Sadness cools in a white mug
Someone's sniffing in his pocket
They whispered about someone in the ear
Someone's nerves flow from the ceiling

My vags are dancing
With marvelous ease of bird singing
And let all the dumb will tell
Like a tear from your long eyelashes

Suddenly breaks and collapse with a roar,
A crystal jug will break
The gleam in the eyes will certainly go out
In indifferent human hundreds of spin

Angry look, mournful moans,
Sweet smoke from the pipe, a warm scarf,
Raven fly over the river
Under the suffering of outlandish harp

Stack of books that dust on the shelf,
Waterfall of a powerful stream,
The truth of life, a haystack in a needle,
In the wires electric current,

The smell of tart coffee outside the door
Light from windows and eyes is me
Neatly from letters watercolor
I am shamelessly drawing you.

Somewhere the rain falls asleep with a snowstorm
And knocks out the window - it's me
Neatly from letters watercolor
I am shamelessly drawing you

The luna-nadotrog was embarrassed
The leaves are torn from the axis branches
I would be with you at least a little
On any of those very paintings ...