Текст песни Caligra - Строчка точка

From the cradle to the grave, the step is not an accurate line.
The point how much it will last, I do not know for sure.
Give me time to enjoy this moment longer.
Give as much as possible well, preferably more.
And the wounds bleed, even if they don’t hurt.
From zero to a hundred like VARDY.
To understand who I am.
How long it will last explain on the fingers.
All such pussy, well, do not dig up.
Start point I am normal. The point is a comma.
Lost where even Lisa Alert does not wander.
How much it will last, I have no idea.
Self -flagellation of reason how unpleasant you are.
As a traitor, it is definitely not a friend how much it will last.
Starting point of the comma will not sleep again.
I did not ask you to find you yourself.
And now you throw me running after heaven.
Start point once a line point two line point.
There would be another knilers, then I would have broadcast more easily.
But among the green grove, you can’t see the inside of the world.
It’s how to put the frames by circling them with a dotted line.
The line is point you know me otherwise.
I take out pieces of life from a battered stash.
The boy did not solve the tasks, but now the back of the head is scratching.
In my closet, I hung an inconspicuous number of skeletons.
Start point stop line point what.
It’s like in centimeters of your body you pull out fear.
To the dust, the mind is decorated and not in parts, but at once.
More from the smaller and I have phrases in stock.
Connect in thin threads reality with lies.
The line point is definitely no one here will help us here.
And it is useless to beat the alarm with both hands.
The line is a comma point.
The line is a comma point.

From the cradle to the grave, the step is not the exact line of the point.
How long it will last, I do not know for sure.

String the point of the skinny finger drives along the book sheets.
Lost and not found, but there is no answer neither there nor there.
I will not give a word to say, do not even think to stutter.
Starting point My comma of my world in every paragraph.
To each asshole who filters the pain through the fibers.
In the area of ​​the elbow fold, it burns like from a dick of nettles.
The line point again crooked letters lay on the sheet.
Fear and pain of laughter and sin have again intertwined.
The line point is trembling in the knees will not allow you to escape.
The line point remains only to wait or guess.
To chat with you about what lips can not keep silent about.
Starting point of the comma begins everything again.
True skill is guilty without guilt.
Sincere without honesty and without a babble.
And where are you and I am somewhere in the distance without delay.
On the straps, the backpack is my keeper of the lines.
The line is why it cannot be so sickening differently.
The comma dot you don't know much.
The arguments shone your mind.
The lump of the breath in the throat, the breathing blurred.
Mirages in colorful colors just let me get out.
Legs in hands and forward to never come across.
In this distorted world, stuffed with a pseudo -reward.
The line is a comma point.
The line is a comma point.