Quiet snow falls , so the summer is ended ,
I sit on the curb and smoke cigarettes,
'm not going anywhere , and nobody do not call ,
no one I want, and do not love !
my tattered sneakers cause your laughter ,
my dark songs are not successful ,
two bottles of wine and a piece of sausage ,
a modest lunch provincial star.
Chorus:
I'm hiding, I'm free,
Broken Face and very stylish ,
3 pennies , 3 BR , it's my youth !
I look at people and give birth poems ,
about you, about me and about our sins ,
about cops , about love, about pigs and fools ,
friends about snitches in whose veins white syringe.
I was driving FM , TV drives me ,
here do not need talent, talent here for lave ,
or jeans to go down to a thick asshole
you fucked up the ass for a cheap deal !
and my songs are not labeled in the global charts ,
I do not have the conditions and I'm glad
I'm in the shade of the pesky television ,
where the beau monde , where PR , political scum !
my tattered sneakers cause your laughter ,
my dark songs are not successful ,
two bottles of wine and a piece of sausage ,
a modest lunch provincial stars
