Аля Кудряшева - А все эти наши проблемы... - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

And all these are our problems, our shortness of breath, our black hot failures because we grab your life for the ankle and squeeze it, and do not know what to do next. As almost a favorite - suddenly with the lip of curved unexpectedly command: "Marsh to bed, mol." And we have gowns, a falcant, a blue girl with a fragile nervous system. This as in the cinema - smelly breathing pop-root, on the hip with my palm, stena hurriedly, and she is something? It goes overnight and lives with you, meaningless, unhappy. And she commemorates, the soul is funny will reach and will remain a beautiful immortal body, but when she finally gets used to you - you will understand that you have lost it for a long time.

It is necessary to tend it, so urgent, not on purpose, leaving, playing, kudri, wielding her on a string, on a taper, holding hands to collect Mirages, and when you will stump in the shirt of mint and cherish the motive of your Piazzol in our ears In the face of emerald mint and will cover you with his joy of candy

I don't know what I got rid of the Okomin and where my poison is up to a drop of the latter, I have a spring and the world through a light sensuality, a transparent string is waved, from the movements of harsh, all the masks fell, I feel almost incredibly young, I inhale the smell of bicycle lubrication, A little tired smell of the end of June. I am a child, I am now deeply unimportant, who else I will be not-first. And there is a cracker around and breathes moist, so the heart is wounded by the arc hyperball.

And it becomes a little more disgusting from the fact that I did not live and smallest, and I dreamed that we will meet in a sports and not you, and I will not notice you, and prevent you that we are at all unfamiliar, and have already been tired seriously, completely froze And when I threw me in a cold pool from the fact that someone kisses you in the head. Only the wind goes away to the right, and the sun on the left, he learns, rustles the clouds of Supratin. Sorry I, I still matured. After me, I, I seem to let go.

This can be explained by the Gold Astral, warm laugh, snowy dust under the snowboard, I did not know that inside I was stuck so much wildlife degrees of freedom, I didn't become older, I just became thinner, every vest, every note for the spring is involved, so go Home in the night and yelling, endlessly, scary, wildly yelling from happiness.

I like it so much to keep it in the palms, without ovations, the blue air will get enough. I like to run out of someone else's home, a predestrous cold on my ears washed, I like to fly high above the world, a white sail to break down, like from the cape, with thought. Leave a note: "Well, with good morning, cute. I love you. Of course, in a good sense."