Here, every woman - bird
But few people can fly ,
In the nest pouyutnee scroll ,
And do not forget Twitter
Here every man - the dead ,
With a smile on his face clean-shaven ,
Here, everything is without a doubt worthy of sludge ,
Which all blocked waiting for the end ,
I did not, I was not hurried ,
Me almost nothing left ,
Not a drop of love, not a bit of soul,
Not a drop of myself,
Go on, slowly, in stages,
Folded his wings, yonder
Without a miss hit , no doubt,
In this offhand and in flight ,
No, he's not an assassin ,
He Freischütz , he playboy
Yeah, you're too late to be born
And I did not have time for you,
Yes, I did not, I did not rush ,
In me has nothing to ,
Not a drop of love, not a bit of soul,
Not a drop of myself,
And someone barely peoples
In your ekstraklassnom nest
Fluttered - and higher and higher ,
And the house was empty without him ,
Catch up to the youngster - idiot
Yes wings long forgotten
All the buzz , the pain and the joy of flight ,
You wonder opened the window ,
Let it fall , exhausted ,
But the bullet went into the milk,
He understood why we need wings -
Then, to fly high ...
Yes, he had , albeit hurried ,
Let it hurt , but he has
That drop of love , that a drop of the soul,
The very smallness of myself ...
