слепой эстет - статичность
текст песни

Clasping a mouse on millions of inserts with your page.
Below the level of the bird flight, my message remains.
And the cuts between tiles of tiles are filled with tears ...
Leave in your head the thought that the paths together are always happy.

The cards are open to each other, and the suits blacken in flame every second.
Glare of sunlight through the space between the eyelids ...
Red on his knees spilled.
And I'm at a loss.
I see you, as if in reflection, along the walls ...

The hiss of the plate of our common unwritten song.
No, life does not wait for life from pension to retirement.
I already filed a vacancy to a banal, but deliberate acting, signing ...

And the exhausted hands are still on the keys as in the piano ...
The clatter of the mouse is already forcing to rust hearing ...
I am not legal anymore ... only for you the "game of words" make up.
Such a simple, but giving hope that says
That I just don’t let you go from this life.

Will you burn? I put out, melting.
Will you sink? I will burn the sea in which you want to go into death.
If you want, jumping from an array, learn to fly?
Then just straighten the wings.

Put on the rotten shelves burned stacks of poems and letters.
I add twenty -second line, laughing in hysteria ...
I am not sick, just in my throat lump tears and a forty -degree cross.
Sit down, please read.
I put you on a clean sheet everything that I try in me,
I try not to love, but in vain I am deceived in the hundredth ...
Yes, "rhyme verbs" the best. I repent.

Without leaving the topic, I want to ask: "And who am I coming to you?"
Unknown passerby in your hallway?
A lying teenager with a cute mug?
Answer sincerely, please.
I will not let the tears in response. I will restrain myself.

Let our films clog with empty personnel. Let be...
We will never win in the lottery of "happy tickets."
Underground syndrome, and siring fibers of the skin sad ...
"If only my hand is your pillow."
Banny, I agree. But not the point.
Already ready to shoot me with hatred,
Putting the recitative on the bipod ...

And the sound paths are filled again with emotions.
Yes, I thought correctly ...
We can’t see your city station ...
But life without me is not such a hard labor for you.
A couple of dozen animals will warm you up to you.
Yes, cats.

Or the plaid is warm.
But this is no longer a common story.
So far I will remain those who are only sad in the MP3 formats.
For you, it’s so desperate.
Who cuts poems on the walls with nails ...
And you be happy with someone the best from me ...
Or with cats.

And the mouse completed the performance from clicks on the liners.
Scraps of happiness ...
Shoved them out of the bookmarks,
And their whereabouts are now mysterious for me.
I am now disappearing in the schedule of monotonon-subsurrent.
I remain as boring, but not scary ...
There are ten more years and find a cold body in a dark lane.
And in the hands of blue her photograph ...
Tears that turned into the ice on her photographed face.