Текст песни Барон - Метро

The escalator down slowly go down ,
I looked at the faces of people , I sometimes get scared .
Something like anger covered the whole world dungeons,
That hysterical laughter , smiles and fun.
Someone takes the time someone walks slowly
Not noticing that the flow transition in the way.
Who work on the nerves , fear of the authorities in the first place ,
Someone to his mistress , another local bitch.
Novels , on the hackneyed plot ideas.
The guy cleans the pockets , easy money .
Young sitting pretending that have fallen asleep
The veterans , the old lady barely glimpsed .
Hold the handrails forces there, something grumble
Rudeness in the face, sometimes even breaking free mat.
The club is not educated or moderately well-fed ,
Addicts dunce enough. Where have you seen ?
These endless vein of Moscow,
Transitions - like parallel worlds
Sadness and longing.
There is no God , loneliness rules the people .
Someone loses the love found here .
Going over the phone memory smsok .
Soft Words favorite , they are now in place.
By dark tunnels
Of noise , screaming wheels.
Sets of words are pleasant almost to tears .
There own music , local band at the transition .
Sometimes listening to a thought bezdyrem .
Here disappeared talents. How many more of these will be?
I do not know , I do not judge them , let God judge them .
And on the corner lurk local huckster
Happiness in his pockets - stones , divided into parts.
With a couple of these people I already know ,
Not just a spectator , not once was a player .
Eternal phrase on glass & quot; Do not lean & quot ;.
Or discussion clubs , advertising, gloss.
Someone fumes blows from someone perfume ,
In the hands of the newspaper & quot; Football & quot; or a collection of poems .
People without a home , and the dogs , for many there is no difference ,
Compressing tails shared hastily dinner.
And they usually do not kill the cold of winter ,
Cold passers- by, the cold indifference of the crowd.
Once again, the music somewhere near the front of
Sets of musical scenes on the transitions in the chest .
Where the soul lurked a bit of pure light
For full lines and full, as a result , the verse .
Through tunnels in the rock frescoes and the dim light ,
Street underground , where no subscribers .
A world where all is bright becoming commonplace ,
Do not notice it until it touches the person.
Each station here remembers parting ,
And meeting all the bouquets of flowers .
Explosions, terrorist attacks , the victims .
I remember the cries of scandals and whisper quiet
& quot; This is not Moscow 's underground city & quot ;.
Minor heart sunk , stopped a minute .
All this bustle enveloped desire judges.
Here, each trying to build a personality.
Any genius he or tramp normal.
Up the escalator I rise only to the fact
I hasten to break out in the city with these underground veins
And something in the memory remains far from clear.
On the streets of the big snow flakes .
Oh God, how nice!