Тимур Шаов - Конец эпохи романтизма
текст песни

The mysterious moon sews the pattern on the ocean fabric,

So one poet wrote, but this is nonsense and nonsense.

The moon is a satellite, just a ball. What is mysterious - stones?

Iv ocean there is no fabric, but there is salty water.

You can’t take us on Arap, on beauty, to romanticism,

The moon is a ball, nitrogen is gas, and zero to zero is equal to the zero.

And feelings are just a current in the brain, electric bulbs, galvanism,

This is how the electron will slip through (fie) - "Onegin, oh I love you."

Rational person - he sees the essence of things, nature,

The romantic wings cracks - love, Juliet, Paradise Garden.

The pragmatist sees everything as it is - a goat, a flirty fool,

Anyway, what is love to this rational look?

But what:

Here the male suddenly sensed the creature of the other sex,

His testosterone is already gurgling,

And the presence in the blood half-thrust of ethanol

Disabases the brain and removes all the taboos.

He has hyperhidrosis, she has tachycardia,

Oxytocin goes into the blood, excitability has increased.

Dopamine, serotonin causes euphoria,

Blood is deposited into cavernous bodies.

Copulation of the process is frankly trivial,

Neurogumoral surge, lust, so to speak.

Further frictions is a series, "oh my god", the final chord,

Refractority and reproach like "And to kiss?"

By the way, that there is a kiss so to speak from the perspective of Darwinism -

With the red border of the lips, short -term contact.

And there is herpes, streptococcus, no romanticism,

Here you have all your love, sorry what is wrong.

Love, love, romance are chemistry, brother, mathematics.

July day, terrace, ivy, in the shade of the colonnade, the colonnade,

A little fruits and olives, a jug of cold wine.

Here writes a small portrait of a big romantic Leonardo,

Donna Lisa Gerardina had a slightly numb her back.

Yes, here is the ideal. She is divine with excess.

What a color, half -tones, Sfuato - he loved it.

But it’s slightly on rolling my eyes, the thyroid gland gives me here,

The swelling of the neck, nervous mouth, she needs to drink mercasol.

Rubensovsky has a second degree of obesity,

And the Glazunovsky character is opposite to the total and exhausted.

Tuberculosis, or maybe typhoid, well, you can see that there is no salvation

In everything, in all an inquisitive eye will find a flaw, sticks a piston.

Or here is a concert hall, Frederick Chopin, "Noktyurna",

All attention is full - this is the tie, here is the refrain.

Do not farewell, popcorn do not eat what to say - cultural people.

They will shop from the heart "ah, chopen ..." And what about Chopin?

And take the bitch and put it on the notes,

Pododisobidly smash, roll it down.

With a calculator, go through all these beauties

Everything is clear - everything is boring, just like a puppy barking.

Fa-minor tetrachord is not news in world culture,

Here is an introductory septakkord, there is trioli of the slonz.

Output-in Si-Bemol Minor, then a sequence in the c-fool

The refrain transpressed, and Lamz-Drin-Gop-Tsets.

Among the writing lads the darkness of the same acrobats,

Here is the Ferenc Liszt Sonata See Minor.

And the information in it is only a couple of memegobytes,

“It's just nonsense,” every programmer will say.

Ah, music, romance is physics, brother, mathematics.

Young young animals are growing up with a sequence of Roman ram,

And we, amusing Byron, give advice: "Good to tryndate."

This is a humanistic message - they send us, but humanely,

We could shut a saber, we in vain scold the youth.

As a tectonic process, the change of generations passes,

And our worthless romanticism, perhaps, do not burn to the ground.

But generations are coming, which, in general, to Feni,

And the deity and inspiration, and blah blah blah blah and all things.

And the deity and inspiration, and blah blah blah-blah-blah-blah blah.