Текст песни Адамант Луар - Шесть с половиной недель

The city in the morning is sleeping sleepy, the prospectuses are filled with people playing the rope while enjoying the bustle. I was my myself once, now absolutely someone else, and I don't want to go back to the life from which you consciously left. I go through the heap of unnecessary paper in my pockets, I find a broken cigarette, squeezing. I fold from the foundry on a sandbraist, then on the moss, I go into a dark bar, drink a glass-other, to release steam. To drink in the morning may be unethical, but I have long forgotten about the decency. My jacket fence and torn, the voice looks like a curl carcass, eyes see through the void of the world, in the head of the mess. Hundreds of different apartments over the past five years, the lack of fear, collapse.
Silent bartender wonders, tapping with his fingers at the rack, I get a bull of mint paper, I write some lines. Recently, I'm so leaving reality, not wanting to change anything radically, resting from righteousness, I go with her side by side. I do not even notice how noone comes, the gods penetrate the thoughts, try to send to the true path. I don't know anything about the truth, I promise them, someday - sincerely.
Female voice on the right breaks thoughts. She talks about problems, and maybe about happiness. Not trying to catch the essence, I remember only her name - Nastya. She drinks vodka, performs some rhythm - my mind killed by her motives, boils. She asks about life, I answer the common phrases, calling me a couple of times with bastard, she turns away, then turns back and notes that my uglyness makes me not like that. Taking the basis of my appearance, she tells me about me. She says say-says.
We transplant for a table, a snack, a lot of drinking. I am calm, she is pleased. I remove a little morality from her words, I understand that she is hunted in life, she is without work for half a year, and February, and nothing new. Behind the windows weather - rubbish. It is stupid to get up early, stand in the queues on the labor exchange, walk on cutting out of newspapers, it seems to be a car mechanic. I listen and smoke cigarettes. I starts like this dark place. Then she says that it would have left for a long time, but her bike is laid, and it is not possible to buy it yet. I remember old T-shirt, I give her room - he has a car service and recently Ignat, who worked ten years. I think Mike will be happy to update my staff, if she really is a car mechanic. Then we drink for her new job, send all the problems, concerns of everyday life to hell. She sings some song - whether in Swedish, or in German.
All day spent in the Kabaska. Fortunately, I have some money, they will be enough to pay the bill. In the course of the conversation, there is something and the case go to the flight. When we leave the bar, there is already dark on the street. Little passersby, windows are lit, the people crowd near the theater. Gray, or snowless, whether the rainy city, drying from the mouth of the mouth. We go to Greek, there she follows the apartment, go through the way to the store, buy wine, then we enter the parade, in which it carries as in the sorter. We rise to the second floor, everything inside is broken away from the evening. We drink up to six in the morning, we say, fall asleep, wake up together. Tea, cigarettes, bed, life-affirming songs - six and a half weeks.