Текст песни Эмбрион Мракобесия - Игра в ящик

I dream of snow in mid-July. I dream of the moon in the middle of a long day. Murderer sneaks to the cradle of the prophet. But it is only the smell of rotten fish. Cramped anger teeth and fingers. Again, fuck, funny behind the door. Blood clot love mucus. Cough buhogo dying child.
Afterworld fetish worldly illusions. Torn trifling pocket universe. Dite is fighting to become adults. Dite kills, giving birth to old age. And there is no one to stick his nose in govnische, and no one to cuddle and comfort him. The diaper faith stinks doubt. The wine from the blood in the belly dancing. Flows through the fingers of the nectar of oblivion. Are you playing a rotten game. "We play what we want. We fell and fly and fly. " In the pocket of the Lord God of your passport - a knife to the throat, with a sickle in the balls. The Wandering Jew in the store of grief. Trades of children fat soap. Maggot knows that the body is not eternal. You need to have time to swallow a little more. So that the left neighbor, so that burst from an overdose. Dead mouse pleasant to the touch, the dead kids pleasant host. He was pleased when you do not have. So make a nice Boss, baby. Gushing river muck of debauchery, perversion flashed fire blight. And everything was cool, everyone was on Kaifu See how living becomes corruption. This sweaty joy to look at the sun, happiness Shizoe bear bastards. Oh fuck you, I'm going from here to there, where there is no tomorrow, yesterday ... And the grass was rising over all this rubbish, It was a fuck, it was green. Kids growing up in their graves. And cubes falling zeros up. Herds of breeding flocks Spikes. Herd praise fag, Kissing asses their ripe juicy, A cubes falling zeros up. Cancer cells to dream of happiness, I wish fuck cancer cells, they became more and more zeros But cubes falling over. And the stars were growing black holes and the sun was stealing a native setting, in a convulsion of life under the century-old rain, only cubes fall zeros up ... and the air in the lungs is so little, little ... Learn to read between the lines, it is what everyone would prefer silent. What fun forgot hypocrite, in a Bose The late yesterday under the fence. Lena girl did not come home. Rita girl did not come home. The soldier is not returned from the war with itself. No one will come back, because there is no home. No sky on his back, no land backhand, no sorrow drunk, nor love with a hangover. Neither things in themselves nor you outside yourself, there is no tomorrow, and even there the day before. And that hurts - even pleasant. And all that nasty - even beautiful. Something that does not taste good - but it is useful, and the Saints as soon as all that bad. Following the principle of "less to the sky," the covenants "pretend blind" the Horned King has become your idol, tailed took its rightful place. So let there be no spring with snow, And let there be no flowers in my opinion, the Blood matrices, eyeless oysters, and chewing gum, erected in religion. No tingling in the skin, or worms on the face. No hamster cells or stray children, no crusades or holy freaks, nor spruce cones or killed bears. Fingerless no pens, no promiscuous bitches, no sick hearts or dried rivers. Neither sandstorm or green dope. No boiled crawfish or blooming poppies, nor forbidden dungeons or celestial slum, nor weary of endless transitions from yourself to yourself, from yourself to yourself, out of nowhere - on the dick! Jeering autumn with a strange smile. With a smile, whores old Leonardo. It goes on the heels after you for all eternity. In anticipation of the warm perishable tomorrow. Perhaps you will become big and fat, may become ill and dumb may have received Allah's forgiveness in the form of cigarette butts on his grave. Melted sticky mark on asfalte.Sbudutsya dreams of good oblivion. Live on, and ebites zhrite.Pishite letter, and tell lies on. Painful childbirth, ferocious beast, Your choice is made. Nothing is sacred. I was a little better than empty. I was a little more complicated than just. In spite of everything - be it tomorrow. In spite of everything - yes will Noon. In spite of everything, in spite of everything. Let heaven, let it be joy ... I dream of snow in mid-July. I dream of the moon in the middle of a long day. In the center of a long day. In the center of a long happy day.