Текст песни Tihaya Sova - Antidepressanti

1.

Phenazepam, hospital floor and bed.
Shout to the nurse on duty that you exist.
The orderlies, injection, shirt and sleep.
Through my sleep I hear the sound of wet streets from the window.
These hospital walls won't hold me.
I will break down the barriers with syringes and pills.
I count the birds flying on my bed
Barely noticeable behind a cluster of branches.
I run through the corridors for a fading memory.
They try to pull me back by the sleeve.
I break out and fall to the tiled floor
And beneath me is a red sunset.
Belts on a white shirt are tight with boas
Episodes from the past fly by express.
Fireworks flicker, oxygen is less and less,
And again I am lying on my bunk.

Either alive or dead - lost in space,
This room has become an event horizon
Neither run nor stay, I close my eyes
I'm waiting for another portion of life-giving chemistry.
Rustles are heard from the neighboring punishment cell,
Maybe I’m there too, or it’s all fiction.
Stelazine smell of Soviet mattresses,
It hints that this is a huge friction.
I hold on to you like a drowned man
Fingers are torn from raw wood,
The logical ending - in a moment you will break
And I will drag your particle to the bottom with me.
Or the bell again, lining up in the dining room,
Eat colorless vegetables for vegetables.
Through the white fog after phenazepam,
I will find your silhouette among the dining room items.

I've always been told that you're just a deviation
You can return everything to normal, do not put it off for later.
But after all, the norm, in fact, is just a superstition,
What is approved by the mass, i.e. by her majority.
And in general, finding an introvert in myself,
At best, smolder in an empty apartment.
It's like running out to the office of the NOD
And solemnly shout that you are blue.

1.5 (x2):

Medicine scale, orderlies, clubs.
Nuclear ash instead of brains.
Every day I wander around the huge hospital.
Loudly fucking my doctors.
Anxiety, raids, shirts and punishment cells,
What can these freaks not do?
Therapy, treatment by evening shows,
Deliver me from this freedom.

2.

Hello dear, have you already taken the pills?
Or was he sniffing under the pillow again?
Still not believing? Are you at war with the system?
At night, you keep calling your waifu-sucker?
Don't worry buddy, we'll bring you back to society
We have a lot of them - problem fucks.
How do you look at a weak discharge in the cerebellum?
Or will we put Nik Lenin on your face?
I'm trying to escape the onslaught of amps
But the huge ass does not allow breathing.
And the worst thing about this absurdity,
That life behind the wall is not much different.
Someone is wearing dressing gowns in an old local hospital
Expels medicinal odor in dry cleaners.
Others put on suprem and vans
And they drop the decaying West on the streets.

Who am I among them? How to find your varna?
Where is my HYIP gear or white robe?
Maybe I, like them, want to be an automaton
Shoot every mother's dandies in the face.
And I continue to roll in a creaking wheelchair
Among forgotten suburbs and panel houses
Or maybe I'm still tied up in a punishment cell,
And all this is the trick of my doctors.
I remember getting confused earlier in the world wide web,
And now, I'm getting a fucking censer.
The choice is small, but very reliable:
Sitting in his native "Cheburashka" under a crocodile.
Whether it's a snuff or some fucking art house
Underneath the noise of the building drill
I close my eyes, cover myself with a pillow
I'm blown up stung in a cold bed.

White mug and five tea bags
Trying to wake up from my nightly adventure
The box is silent and the radio is turned off.
I try not to make unnecessary gestures.
I remember the high fence of the hospital
The smell of gray roads and dry flowers.
Still, there was one plus in this fucking dream:
... you were with me.