Текст песни Угол Зрения - Прыжок веры

Leap of Faith

Biathlon:
I run, stumble and believe that fart will still somehow catch me
And it would be better if I pray, if not, then Zinc to the Small Gray.
The photographer shouted yesterday there will be photos, but with a hangover they will light up
And so in the end I will leave a landscape of dilapidated paintings as a keepsake.
The sun did not go overseas, but stupidly slid over the roof of the barracks,
In the morning on the rise, to the company on the run, I trampled the furrows.
Not a mother or brother in my pocket, I didn’t sew a sleeve for them.
In my pocket in the photo I’ve painted what was once conceived from the war.
All for my own sake, I will return to myself as a result
And strictly I myself fight with each of these bitch to the graves.
I will walk barefoot paths secretive, like the roads of the Lord,
But, apparently, in this campaign I will stay right up to the gray hair.
And there are no golden mean, time is so ruthlessly striving,
Yes, years go by dragging with it everything from the lowlands.
one day you and I will have to meet each of these demons,
But you are not alone, while in the veins that name moves us.

Chuck Chorus:
The world of the absurd is rolling over the edges
Leaves a burn on the soul.
And to get back to square one
It remains to make only one jump.
Leap of faith from stuffy rooms
Beyond the atmosphere.
Fly up until it stops the attraction
Jump up

Patriot:
As a child, I dreamed of flying, looking into the fabulously blue sky,
Yes, like every child in the most ordinary family of average statistics
I was growing up and at the same time the flight system was growing,
Demons sang in my ear about "wings", but I listened to all this fiction.
The piston banged, I stupidly laughed at everyone who does not fly,
The trembling taste of heights over time became an ordinary routine
And my spaceship in the end, as often happens with the pilot,
Extremely landed in one of the psychiatric clinics,
Where is the ward of the mentally ill, those that are typhoid-bound to the bed:
Etaperazine and focus point driven by a nail into the ceiling.
I called "come, Lord," crushing the membrane of the chamber,
Measuring the walk with the landscape of the balcony, completely forgetting about the flight.
Ice is melting and time is flying, time trouble no matter how you twist,
The world of cobwebs, my quarantine took me back to the beginning of the journey.
I threw away my old wings - a seemingly sad rhyme,
But I nevertheless begged from Heaven to take the last leap.

Chuck Chorus:
The world of the absurd is rolling over the edges
Leaves a burn on the soul.
And to get back to square one
It remains to make only one jump.
Leap of faith from stuffy rooms
Beyond the atmosphere.
We fly up until it stops the attraction
Jump up