Текст песни Специально для Клана Первый-Взвод - Первый-взвод Вованчоо, и ДаНиИлНаГиБ

Slowly down the escalator going down ,
I look at people's faces , I sometimes get scared .
That seemed to anger covered the whole world dungeons
That hysterical laughter , smiles and fun.
Someone in a hurry , someone walks slowly
Unaware that prevents the flow transition .
Who work on the nerves , fearing the authorities first,
Someone to his mistress , another local bitch.
Novels, on the banal story ideas.
Man cleans pockets easy money.
Young sitting pretending that already asleep
The veterans , the old lady barely glimpsed .
Hold the handrails forces there, something grumble
Rudeness in the face, sometimes even breaking mat.
The club does not educated or rather chubby ,
Addicts dunce enough. Where have you seen ?
Those endless vein Moscow
Transitions - like parallel worlds
Sadness and longing.
There is no God , loneliness rules the people .
Someone loses the love found here .
Going over the phone memory smsok .
Endearments favorite , they are now in place.
By dark tunnels
Amidst the noise , screaming wheels.
Sets of words are pleasant almost to tears .
Here their music on the transition local band .
Sometimes listening considered himself bezdyrem .
Here disappeared talents. How many more will ?
I do not know , I do not judge them , let God judge them .
And on the corner lurk local huckster
Happiness pockets - stones , divided into parts.
With a couple of these people I already know ,
Not just a spectator , there was once a player.
Eternal phrase on glass " Mind the Gap " .
Or discussion clubs , advertising, gloss.
Someone breathing fumes from someone perfume ,
In the hands of the newspaper "Football" or a collection of poems .
People and dogs without homes , for many there is no difference ,
Pursing tails shared hastily dinner.
And they usually do not kill the cold of winter ,
Passers- by cold , cold indifferent crowd.
Again music somewhere near the front of
Sets of musical scenes in transitions in the chest.
Where the soul held her little pure light
For full and complete lines , as a result , the verse .
Through tunnels in rock frescoes and the dim light ,
Underground street where available subscribers .
World where everything is bright becoming commonplace ,
Do not notice it until it touches personally .
Each station here remembers parting ,
And meeting all the bouquets of flowers .
Explosions, terrorist attacks , the victims .
I remember the cries of scandals and whisper quiet
" This is not Moscow, is an underground city ."
Minor heart sunk stopped minutes .
All this bustle enveloped desire judges.
Here each person is trying to build itself .
Any genius he or tramp normal.
The escalator up I climb only so
I hasten to break into the city from these underground veins
And something in the memory remains far from clear.
Outdoors big snow flakes .
Oh God, how nice!