Текст песни Панель - Ветер режима крушил покореженный крейсер

At the head of the rotting, rusty trawler
The bald shoemaker sharpened knives.
And life proceeded calmly,
Life flowed in a lie.
The gaze of the stealing street girl
Twenty million hungry snouts.
A drunken shoemaker rules the sole,
He cut the skin, aligned the seams.
Rats in anticipation of Godo, and New Year.
Subbed in the shit on the throat.
Deeper than in whom Ourel,
Than in the lava Mordor,
Than in the meat of the condor.
They gave the signal a lantern,
They covered the damper.
Three short,
Three long,
Three short.

Our shore is calm
Our shore is calm.
Do not cook guns, do not sharpen the stake.
Our shore is calm.
Our shore is fine.
Our shore is fine.
Do not sharpen the pitchfork, do not hide your personal.
Our shore is fine.

Do not believe the deceased
Do not believe worthy.
Our shore is calm.
Creeping to the success of Gasqueun.
Sitting in the zones in the fog sultry.
Do not believe the decent
Do not believe eyewitnesses.
Our shore is fine.
Pulling the skins on the thin faces,
Pull the legs with a milking principles.
After all, we are scattered like light behind bars in the room,
We are a scattered advice that does not make decisions.
The rejection to the loop breaks the vertebrae of the cervicals,
Tattoos on the back is a label of seduction.
We are a diluted flag union and borders,
Alarm bells - beckons with the cells of the menagerie.
Rats blink a lantern.
In the back of the British destroyer.