Текст песни Данила Козловский - Портрет трагедии

Let's look into the face of the tragedy. See her wrinkles
her hunchbacked profile, the chin of a man.
Let’s hear her contralto with devilish notes:
the raucous aria of the investigation is louder than the squeak of cause.
Hello, tragedy! You have not been seen for a long time.
Hi, the flip side of the coin.
Let's consider your details in detail.

Let's look into her eyes! In extended from pain
pupils induced by Karim force of will
like a lens on us - either in the stalls, or
giving, on the contrary, in someone’s fate touring.
Good evening, a tragedy with heroes and gods,
legs with poorly covered curtains
with his own name, drowning in a common din.

Put her fingers in her mouth with cranky scurvy
keys, with an inflamed voltaic arch
with a sky spit on the ashes of relatives and a snowstorm.
We pick her hem, see her naked.
Well, if you want, tragedy, surprise us!
Depict the betrayal of the body, takeaway
bodies, evonous minus, insulted innocence.

Cling to the cheek of tragedy! To the black curls of the Gorgon,
to the rough board on the other side of the icon,
rolling along the cheekbones, like wagons to the East,
a star that has chosen the bands and epaulets.
Hello tragedy, out of fashion
with time receiving from the judge in the face.
You are good in nature, but better in the morgue.

We will collapse into the arms of a tragedy with the readiness of a womanizer!
Dive into her middle-aged meat.
We pierce it through to the mattress springs.
Perhaps she will bear it. So the race survives.
What's new in the repertoire, tragedy, in the wardrobe?
And - speaking of a product in your womb -
the better is the role of a large creature the role of a nondescript fraction?

Breathe in its stinking smell! Armpit and sewage
multiply by the sum of the fifth corners and by their quotas.
Squeal hysterically: "Who are you for
accept me! "Feel a fit of vomiting.
Thank you, tragedy, for being irreparable
that there is no abortion without a cherub,
that you do not pass by, you try with a udder with a fever.

Her face is ugly! It is not masked
duckweed, putty, bashful paint,
hands occupied by denouement
stormy ovation, nervous shake.
Thank you, tragedy, for being frank
like a cleaver on the crown, a razor vein
for not taking time, which is instant.

Who we are, non-statues, non-canvases,
so as not to let your life be disfigured irrevocably?
What can also be considered as offspring; but
even more interesting if the thing is ethereal.
Do not disdain it, tragedy, the genre of the result.
How do you like the death of all that is holy?
No wonder you suit your jacket and toga.

Look: she smiles! She says, "Now I
I will begin. In this matter, it’s important to begin
how to end. Take your watch off your wrist.
Give me a man and I will begin with misfortune. "
Come on, tragedy, act. From the vowels going throat
Choose the "s" invented by the Mongol.
Make it a noun, make it a verb

adverb and interjection. "S" - a common breath in and out!
"S" we wheeze, vomiting from losses and gains
or - rushing to the door with a sign "exit".
But there you stand, with drin, bulging eyes.
Embed in your own way, tragedy. Crush us, knead like dough.
We are tied with you, even though it’s not a bride.
Spit in our souls while there is room

and when he is gone! Turn this thing into a quagmire
which the Holy Spirit, the Father and the Son
do not rake. Dip it in the rubber
roll a cube of chlorpromazine into it, stick the aspen here and there:
give, tragedy, the resemblance of the soul to nature!
A hybrid of archangels with a golden company!
Come on, as the fruit told Michurin, freak out.

You used to have power, friend.
You came at midnight, waved xenon,
quoted by Racine, was beautiful.
Now your face is a cross between a dead end with perspective.
Thus, the herd finds its address and the soil - the tree.
Your outline looms everywhere - right or left.
Go ahead, open the gate of the crib.