Текст песни Песочные Люди - Боль Моя

My pain , my share
Colts whose aim in the head?
Holili wrong , or cherished .
Then delineate chalk obuyut in white .

Festival zasyhaya not pack
Sundresses in the edge of paradise
Ryskaya in the search for the essence
With close on the same path
Tearing network no fear
Rubik's Cube cuts , tear off his shirt
Yah ! On gasp , and wept before nahavayut plahayu
Build salted intrigues ,
Zamozolili eyes with tears.
Calm down ! Do not pull the thread
Not the wick will tear
On edge flags , torches
Angels on the wing in a brazen with the naked truth
Give freedom , those who are against the gate Morden
With barking angry retreating to the edge
Our roofs that were higher
To close the birds ! same plant
Yes, sin. And not red
Passengers with lubricated skis
Napyzhennye on the roads grew
Yes and wrinkles burned rozhah
Podsozhgli we are not extinguished
In a foam soap box dust
Rummaged from the tops of the rocks and to
Strutted that there are forces
And insomnia did not leave calm.
Meeting face -to-face
Large portions of fried sun
Not feeling the soil , not seeing the coast
Whose path is shorter - believed without words
We must keep pace and not rush
Late gold metal , if it is oxidized
Who cares without risk
And who is the threat to his temple smiling ...

My pain , my share
Colts whose aim in the head?
Holili wrong , or cherished .
Then delineate chalk obuyut in white .