Текст песни РЫГОСТАН - Истина

My well is poisoned
And maybe I will live another day.
Leaving, earlier, the bus leaves
And I will not have time, I will not reach, alas.

Behind the turn of the lake, there is depth.
And the price that I paid is funny.
With yourself, with yourself,
Talk to me, in the depths, under water.

And about those thoughts and dreams,
And about all our sins, but do not forget, do not forget.
How much will you give or take, choose yourself.
I know what you did, what you loved and whom you idolized.

With himself, a imaginary hero remained,
And he has no choice, leave everything here for days, under water.
And do not remember anymore, do not remember.
And no longer cry, do not think and not suffer, never.

Never, never think about it,
Never remember.
Do not think that everything will pass by itself
Only a lake is needed.

Look in my eyes,
Where did you stare through me?
It acquires knowledge in sorrow!

There is a lot of basement for him
And the universe is not enough.
Within the framework, he is always clamped
And every time it starts first.

At first...

You are my copy, give me freedom,
Leave my ardent mores.
You ditched my life and agony,
And I have the right to ask you.

You will respond with a cough, your speech is not clear,
How much to wait yet, sit until late.
Although I like it, write a couple more lines,
I am so tired of being inspired by you.

Just describe your recreation area,
Sweet words.
Just stir with a handle on a piece of paper,
Ink water -soluble.

Slocked asphalt, with the smell of oil and resin.
Endless forests of powerful fir trees, their trunks!
Deep in the case, far from the road-river.
Quiet surface before sunset, tshshsh-dick.

The foundation of the Finnish hut, grass on a narrow path.
Fascinating a whisper of an aspen grove, an ant on a boot.
A quiet journey, silently, through hundreds of birches.
Near the stone, the ravine, the web is overgrown with a web.

At night, a weak frost, a handful of blueberries for breakfast.
The field, a quiet knock, somewhere a hare of Rusak.
Every evening mosquitoes, chill in the morning.
He put on boots and forward, a quagmire, fog.

Lake, light breeze, hay on the beach.
Wet asphalt, where will the path go further?
A narrow scar on the soul, in the form of a summer residence.
A web entwined darkness, where I am alive differently ...

A couple of phrases yelled at the village.
Awkwardly, but vividly,
Carefully and courteously,
Heat and fresh, as I see, without lies.

Under the quiet foliage, on the verge of water and earth,
Sawing of a drop, red -hot asphalt.
Noisy in the head, current voltage,
Transparent horse, cities sliding

You fly along the avenue, a scarf develops,
No one will hear, empty words.
You are rudely scolding, that bright flashlight,
What takes into oblivion, your sleeves.

So sad and painful, you cast a glance at the passers -by
That they fly away in a moment, far from you.
You just see you simple and small drops,
Flying away, about your sleeves.

Sleeves on a blouse, a white blouse,
Wool entwined, your neck.
You dissect, Petersburg autumn,
And you return again, you are your own circles.

You squeeze so hard, your lonely umbrella,
Flying so close, you lose me.
Curved and false, so dreary,
You perceive, such an obvious life.

Rushing and rushing, you are running in spite of you
The deaf flow, and the wires slide.
Excitement flew, fear evaporated,
White film, wraps you on.

You sincerely look, through the fog and shackles,
So clear and vividly, you sit at the bridge.
Left, you freeze on an eme of the moment,
And strictly tuned in, on positive.

And the thaw will be, and there will be fun,
And joy, and faith, and life finally!