Themselves gave everything (with the participation of the Sagrada "Salt of the Earth")
Sagrada:
With a tightly packed sports bag, I am again undermining.
Bitch, it's disgusting, because my relatives are crying because of me.
Zaros for the weekend, lost weight, haggard
And when I went out on the floor was all the dishes.
The neighbor will come off the eye, scratch his ass,
With me longing will enter the elevator - what difference does it make.
Every Friday ends Saturday
Hire someone on Monday for work.
People on the phone dofiga, but to little avail.
Everyone moved out, but only Maly called.
I walked between the houses, in my pockets shaking my hand,
The sun was setting far beyond the river.
Close your eyes, do not understand, just forgive.
Roll back, there’s a lot of joy in our common past,
We need to carry it through all adversity,
After all, it is me and you - we are children of the weather.
I’m wrong again, wrong around
This is our house, and again I run from it.
A tramp with a bundle on a stick, past a flasher,
In pockets as debts - other people's lighters.
Like a taxi, I’ll fall apart in the back, I’ll tell you the route,
I’ll ask you to take me to where they are waiting for me.
Drove me to look like a blessed one
He will turn around and go to Bazhenov.
Sagrada Chorus:
We dropped something in a hurry and didn’t pick it up.
And well, if they had taken it away, we ourselves gave everything away.
The height above the city lights turns black
Beauty is quietly leaving the world.
We dropped something in a hurry and didn’t pick it up.
And well, if they had taken it away, we ourselves gave everything away.
The height above the city lights turns black
Beauty is quietly leaving the world.
Patriot:
It's already winter, and I'm wearing an autumn jacket,
Food last passenger in the last minibus.
It was as if hope had burned down with a charred candle
And if that, the conductor wakes up on the final.
A skirmish with sadness, a cloud pours water on a chaise,
The radio sings along, they say, all the matches are wet.
The phone is silent, something personal in SMS,
Tried to hide, but longing accepts red-handed.
Running away from the truth forever - what's the point?
And if there is no money, I know where they will pour me a loan.
I’ll go home again with my relatives without greeting
Nerves are strained and I am completely to blame.
The back hurts from reckless rampant jumps.
The guitar cries - even in music I am a loser.
I ask a question and answer it myself.
I pour and drink. I drink and pour.
Dripping rain, passers-by are also in a hurry,
Seconds are ticking, outside and inside is bad weather.
I would have fled solemnly, to the chiming clock,
But you won’t run away from yourself - the circle is closed.
Biathlon:
I’ve been all winter for eight years already, so what's the point?
Though spring and summer sings sunny to us outside the window.
My booth in the mass of long forgotten days has melted
And as if a flock of birds took and plucked everything around the edges.
Longing is my worst demon, one hundred out of a hundred, doors are closed, brother,
But within the beliefs of faith, the flesh breaks walls.
One hundred generations of impostor poets, "geniuses",
What did she eat for lunch, this hungry bitch.
Delirious as a prisoner, I see a speck of light in the dark,
A piece of hope that for the traveler the road to the goal,
I will skin the old woman tenaciously, I will keep everything valuable,
To leave behind the old, one hundred percent.
Sagrada Chorus:
We dropped something in a hurry and didn’t pick it up.
And well, if they had taken it away, we ourselves gave everything away.
The height above the city lights turns black
Beauty is quietly leaving the world.
We dropped something in a hurry and didn’t pick it up.
And well, if they had taken it away, we ourselves gave everything away.
The height above the city lights turns black
Beauty is quietly leaving the world.
