Время альбиносов - В пыльных сумерках пятниц
текст песни

Our wishes will not come true
No miracles, no miracles, no miracles
The human mouth is a chewing machine
This rough asphalt, growing into a forest

Will cover up the remains, the remains, and the memory
The danger of teachings... and the pathos of the century
Will step on the throat... A thaw? Melt
Everyone melt... for the good, in the name of... the Bin

It glitters, scratched by old brooms
Twig to twig, we cannot be broken
Tatars, Mongols, creaking saddles
Long ago we learned to love and forgive

And we are still preparing for someone else's war
Up to our ears..., up to our elbows... With the stamps of drunkards
Still looking for codes, or something in the wine
Eating shashlik in the dusty twilight of Fridays

And we are still preparing for someone else's war
Now in masks, in the robes of cold libertines
Still looking for codes, or something in the wine
Eating shashlik in the dusty twilight of Fridays

In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
In the dusty Dusty, dusty
Friday. Friday
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
In the dusty twilight
Fridays
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
Fridays
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight
In the dusty twilight
Eating shashlik
In the dusty twilight of Fridays
Dusty Fridays