Дионис Буланичев - Брюхи
текст песни

Brows
D. Bulanichev

The baby is sleeping, the hands of the stroke
The angel pretended to be a moth
Rustles of birches, inevitable tears
You and I are such a motive

Ray in the Golden Polyanka
Tiny dews silver
Smoke from cigarettes, sadness, tea, sweets
Silence, calm, good ...

Here it is, dear man
What happened, it was, you will not remember forever
So it is, good friend
On, smoke - I burned my fingers!

Stench, dirt, swing scrapity
Dumped intimacy
Vomiting, pus, fen, stuffiness
It seems to be life, but not that!

So fly, run in the morning about the grass
Brave naked bellys
We’ll fly, run in the morning about the grass
Scratch naked belly, bare feet on stones to knock down ...
So fly, run in the morning about the grass
Brave naked bellys
We’ll fly, run in the morning about the grass
Scratch naked belly, bare feet on stones to knock down ...