H.Replay - Утро
текст песни

Good afternoon ... In the morning I have nothing to do again,
Get up - laziness, on TV - healing.
I am lying in bed, I delve into the everyday life,
I don’t understand what's the number in the yard, and what is the day of the week ...
The snowstorms are already about to change drops.
I sat down at the computer, I am a dial medicine for me.
Well, yes, everything seems to be simple, find a job,
Decide who along the way, but go straight ... Wait!
How many days weren't on the street? Well, a couple of three
Hurry lie! I know that much more, well, well,
So you get up quietly, you go to the bathroom slowly;
Behind the wall neighboring Galdage, Cranes Turn, List of Bangs
Water flows, but there is no nothing ...
I go out - a switch, kitchen, refrigerator, juice,
I recall a piece that I hid in a sock;
I look like the sun of a block, on my face - a ski:
Red is a good choice for the soul
I sculpt under my roof, which I love very much,
I look at the thickness in the bottle - I do not rush smoke.
Emotions - in unison with the Turkish march of Mozart,
Penetration in the head, I let smoke from my mouth;
And outside the window, in a dense stream from the east, people -
The endless course of random destinies.
And everyone is in a hurry somewhere, everyone is running somewhere,
And I - here, plums rod and all, in principle, buzz;
I do not hasten anywhere, in fact - nowhere;
I see that suddenly the snow pours water -
This is not a problem. Yes!
Reception of pure thoughts, as in wires,
Current by hand, nonsense from the head sunk somewhere ...

Or maybe just take it, but to send everything to hell,
As if there are no borders, or they are simply erased.
And these people are a gray set of fate -
They just dance in the rain - they do not care, what will happen!
Thoughts play, taking the hostage hostages on the faces,
In the space of options, cutting the edges, as if with scissors,
Putting documents, other papers in puddles,
They absorb heavenly moisture with souls.

Throwing off the masks and falsehoods of the veil,
Do not care that this is not May, that it is February,
And in general - now there is no more burden
What people call time ...
There is no doubt, the pain of agony;
I will put my palms open to the sky,
I will let go of the evil thoughts that the brain has taken out,
I will pour on the road like butter, a puddle of longing.
And when all the souls become clean,
The sun will hang in a warm ball in the sky.
True.
So everything is simple, spontaneously, unscheduled
In order to start everything again.
The Moscow could harden, the dirt of gray roads,
And the spire of the Ostankino tower, a ceiling stuck in the sky;
And in my head now - a dream, hopes, faith,
My gut that can never simply become gray.