Текст песни Dark Faders - Дом тысячи сквозняков минус

Verse 1 (Horus)

Just a couple of seconds to understand what I need to tell you all.
Scraping the dust of the wicked, wandered into the farthest bay with a lantern in the dark
my memory. Where all the trash was stored, where it flowed smoothly, like in a dirty toilet.
These shabby ghosts of the past are irrelevant than the headlines of Soviet newspapers.

I click reset. I just take and press reset.
Stripping cuts on the ego and dislocations of the psyche, pulling off a rotten tarp
scabs of oblivion. Again, I stare at the edge of the pharynx in my eyes,
Where are the faces of forgotten friends that are alien as aliens from the dimension Z.

I again fifteen fell over his shoulders battered satchel.
These cramped classes smelled of boredom, where you have to fight first,
then to make friends. (This is how filtering happens)
The bitterness of the first intake of school in the alleys overgrown with acacia -

demonstrative actions of disregard for boring prohibitions from ancestors and teachers.
To the exact sciences, I somehow without awe ...
They only force them to fidget in the chair, like Bender’s schemer.
Under the parters & quot; Amber Chronicles & quot; yes adventures gamer Ender

instead of worn textbooks. My hatred for them was too tenacious.
We, the children of post-perestroika, were chasing a football game on a waste land before the construction.
From home problems leaving the courtyards where no one is a pity to anyone.
Older brothers - in hot spots. On TV - policy in the burning hats.
                                                          
So what to remember here about childhood? Such is it - the corridor-driveway.
Not that we are particularly proud, but somehow we do not particularly disdain ...
Afraid then you regret that it will be too painful to open this door?
It's like in the advertising Gillette - & quot; You almost will not feel the blade & quot ;.

Chorus:

There are hundreds of thousands of rooms in my head and drafts and shadows are walking on them.
My memories are a gloomy pool where fireflies of vision flicker in the darkness.
Somewhere I hide what I fear most in the world.
Age means nothing here, because inside we are still just children.

Born at the turn of two millennia.
Living at the turn of two millennia.
The dead at the turn of two millennia.
Resurrected at the turn of two millennia.

Verse 2 (Ka-tet)

Life has not become for us nectar
so that is enough in the nature of the metal.
Born at the turn of the century, we suspected that
it is unlikely that fate will give us a gift. Leaking memory.
Zubrezh at night helped to blow up the capillaries,
but more often here we slyly propped up our knowledge with crutches of cribs.

This time floats from the depths of my memory, two steps from the old courtyard.
We were taught to swim there, not swim. I close my eyes back,
boomerang, where the hardening began.
There was no right to weakness
because we are the last pile. So we should be stronger than superhard alloys.

I am one of those who have always been with people, but everywhere was one.
I remember how difficult it was for me to find here someone whom I coexist with
and so many passed by with whom I was not on the road.

There are so many forgotten pages in the memory book.
blurry images of those with whom the amazing draw of the road is not intertwined.

The threads are torn - I cannot describe it, I cannot pick up an epithet.
Did not want to see half of what he saw.
I have not seen half of what I would like to see.

We chained the wings. Then the chains replaced our wings.
In my house drafts, the windows of the past were covered with historical dust.

Chorus