Part1.
Every day, the same faces
Who are looking for where it’s cheaper to get drunk
Nobody wants to work, everyone just wants to have fun,
And fuck all those who can't sleep at night
There is only one thing in my thoughts, is it as if not to merge?
In this fucking world where everyone is always unhappy
Never seen freedom, but consider themselves free,
In power, all those behind whom are people with epaulets,
Money is counted in packs, goods are considered wagons.
To get nonsense, or to blow something, there are no problems,
After which a partial space appears in the memory,
To recall what was yesterday, and what a traitor was,
But alas, all those whom you do not know in person have become brothers
I want to remember everything that was then,
And at the same time forget and never remember,
A black hood, a couple of grams in your pocket and tightly closed ears,
For you so stoned people, for me so lost souls.
Part2.
Lost souls, and exactly the same generation,
Gradually, our age leaves communication
Rather, it just changes its shape,
Going to the screens of phones, tablets, paw-tops.
And from this problem we can’t escape already by flight,
And today we get used to this garbage since childhood.
And if earlier children took examples from their father or mother,
Now, examples for them are characters of screens.
And this is not a dream and nonsense, but the real of the twenty-first century, alas,
Unfortunately teenagers are clogged with social. networks and not yards.
There are others, those who are twelve years old sitting and smoking a cigarette,
It's a mess at home, because there’s always no parents there,
Father thumps daily but says he is looking for work,
Mother, too, is looking for money only with her approach.
And there are many such cases in Russia, every year it’s not better,
Accidents or lost souls.
