Текст песни Записки на Теле - сдался

Death as a continuation of what he did not comprehend during his lifetime.
Forgiven debts, served one life sentence in the body.
Sorted syndromes in order of pain.
An open fracture of the leg is fraught with subsequent displacement.
By mixing the blood of one transfusion group.
Everyone seems to be different, but people are our common name.
The universe knows us as an ambitious and promising race.
Two camps are supposed - the government and the rebels.
Catholics and Protestants hold a chime service.
Without unnecessary sayings, all with modest speakers.
Their restorers will work on everyone's opinion.
Psychologically savvy with the signatures of the truth.
They offer freedom and gender equality as a reward.
We agree, we sew ourselves into the cloak of their foundation.
All on a par, dissenting opponents of philosophy.
Sifting out the shackled, the voices of the outcasts asking for help.
The brain is like a vegetable not ripe without a seed, it looks hard.
The embryo of the strength of the people that created the image of the Madonna around.
We try to be kind, to understand the position of everyone.
Any thought, idea, develops to something important.
Something smoothed out by the harmony of general relationships.
And each rebirth is like turning yourself into a hermit.
A loop on the neck as a decoration, inlaid with a painful knot.
I remember everything useful, reached into my pocket for the blade.
Iron, to cut from the list of people who killed value.
And now I myself do not feel the same integrity.
There is no goal either, I am like a tape that is about to be cut.
Like an island following Atlantis under water, cutting the coastline.
Keeping the distance between the ends of the stations.
There is too much wandering in the last dance.
Too little oddity, I counted on my fingers.
They are laughing around, pretending to be too, just smiling from under the shell.
I do not raise my voice, my eyes go lower and lower.
No, I'm not offended, I'm not sleeping, the noise level is too high.
Familiar people in the distance, now seem closer.
My finish line is around turn 5 on a round hill.
A mound of thoughts is blown up by a hurricane of fractional numbers.
Expelled of his own free will, tried, but could not get drunk.
People are the best drink when it's good for the soul at first,
then you feel sick, you fall to the bottom of the basement, useless to anyone.
And in the winter cold you burn out from the flu or pneumonia.
Like a baby to whom no one can change diapers.
Help stick the needle, start the life-saving shot vaccine
there are many sought after, but you consider yourself rotten and naked.
Yes, it seems, and self-esteem is normal, more drama.
A person is skeptical about when he becomes recognized.
Almost like a vocation, a recognition of your duplicity.
Even the most banal is reduced to indecency.
And many gave up. But this is their own.
Having crossed out the presence of morality.