Гарри Топор - Зеленый морг
текст песни

If the forest is your house, and you can’t even scare you with a sekach or a connecting rod, and glossy in a con, flocks of evil wolves, and what, in old age, the huntsman is not vodka and bunk, from a tree flies for a fox through a hundred hectares. He has what will feed the lead, which flies out, as if OS and bees hail: My God. You forgot, there are many kilometers the most hypertension and swamp, because in a quiet thicket, someone is always bursting there at night at night. A month - a heavenly spotlight - can illuminate paths. Something torn a person like that, there was nothing more to put in a coffin. The crunch of branches and myriads of the eyes around somewhere, the growl on the right and left can only promise him with an external accelerated course into the sky. Someone's fangs pulled the larynx, as if the throat pierced with a nail. The huntsman lay in parts, and the animals watched the fire burned out. Blood on the coals - casserole, he will end, ears, tongue and eyes - like a delicacy. Death itself lives in distant swamps - the father said so from childhood. The paths will close the path in itself, but you still pave the way. You will have animals from stone cells and concrete boxes in your way. Chorus: Stevie Insane stand! You started overnight, but there are no people, then everything is inhuman! Even God is far away, this forest will rest you with an eternal dream! Thoughts are in vain about many years in order to die an old man, because to see the happiness of fangs in the form of death with a scythe, answer, are you ready? I hope you hear them, just allow them to leave quieter. Who was not worth rest, they are alone here, the trees die standing. I hope you hear them, just allow them to leave quieter. Who was not worth rest, they are alone here, the trees die standing. The second verse: I lived among them one day, everyone is familiar in that village. I suffered amusement, imagined myself with a genius-haha, how. As a result, Izmazan was soot, as a result, they became a page below, on a horse without a crew at the forest was given to the landscapes. After all, anger was boiling, anger multiplied the day by day. It’s as if in a cloud of white, the cloud ate me. Exile will not forgive me, the bitterness of resentment, like small aphids, blood freezes in veins, the mind squeezed anger. I remember that first night, I remember myself with a full moon, this obsessive itch went through the body like a wave. He was always on his mind, but as if the whole body became a stranger, and the howl instead of a scream fell off his mouth, and in his eyes became ashes. I find them one at a time, mercilessly with claws of ditch. Once having tried the flesh, I will tear and flog them again and again. And only in the morning, gaining consciousness will I return to my log house, only then, so that at night, having pulled out the claws, to take up old work. Chorus: Stevie Insane stand! You started overnight, but there are no people, then everything is inhuman! Even God is far away, this forest will rest you with an eternal dream! Thoughts are in vain about many years in order to die an old man, because to see the happiness of fangs in the form of death with a scythe, answer, are you ready? I hope you hear them, just allow them to leave quieter. Who was not worth rest, they are alone here, the trees die standing. I hope you hear them, just allow them to leave quieter. Who was not worth rest, they are alone here, the trees die standing.