Аля Кудряшева - Двадцать перышек за плечами... - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Twenty days behind the shoulders - sheltered, it's time to lift. I go, wander the keys, people stare at me. In the ears, music, if, the song, the voice melts the clockwork, we seemed so difficult together, but it was still hard one. Get out of connection with the ether, you hear, you, I love you. The seller from the stall with Kefir calls me a "camel". "Come," says, the native, choose for myself. " If I do not know myself, then why do I go to him?

The air is blue with an attachment of apples, beats the sprous. I live so far on November, nothing happens. I'm good. Player - Shuffle. I compose in the subway poems and knitting you gray scarf from acrylic nonsense. It is necessary for me the city - rightly feel like tremble, I drink Thursday Kororom, to survive Friday, the days change hurriedly, the snow is transparent, rains wets. I drink Sabbath beer, Lowenbraim'Om, not huhry.

I breathe cheap tobacco cheap, still laugh like a face. Nothing else, Kudryashov, in general, you are keen. Soon the session, the abroad, pass - you will not pass, then go to understand, they say, in the morning the jogging helps to post the world, because you will not pass - and rolls the sausage, and you will not return the past, so I'm better than learning Albanian and do not worry someone else's cherry. Whether it's time to go, climb, forget about everything at all, because you are still nineteen, and he is already twenty-seven, he has a wife and children, he walks through his own - why do you only breathe in the light of the world?

A cat was given on the cornily, I compose a letter myself, I am a lollip of chips in the chipping tube. Speak is whatever you say anyway, so smear the crying on Roger, beat the Lobik into the monitor. And, let's, together rolling, is waiting for a cold emptiness, you just don't want to be happy just like that. Just think the string iliac, which is no longer afraid of the wall, just get squeezed in the morning and groaned from joy. No, you will be before dawn, deriving a family from yourself, to bring the kilometers of nonsense in overheated ah-cew. And dawn on the brain, all roads lead to Rome. "Well, good night, loved one. So, tomorrow will agree. "

And the machines of asphalt are burned, as firewood burns fire, twenty-first leaflet - caravlik, landed on the palm. I am good, even very, only stupid like a brick. Since I chose me. I chose, chose and, by the way, did not scold my fate.

We can, if we want to be happy. I give to the tooth.