Аля Кудряшева - Не бойся, милый, это как смерть из телека - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Do not be afraid, cute, it's like death from the TV, we will rise, get out somewhere through the century, because it is not even a virus, and so, the hysteria, Saturday-Utrechko, you have to sober. It's time to go, in the package on the road, bugles, a comb, mirror - Lord, who is? .. On the street it is not frosty, but it would be frozen on the coat. Well, quietly, with a good, raising your head, at the bus stop, right, do not rush, so good - there is no heart of a naked nor the pink underwent soul.

This is how these, almost autumn, almost very lively empty days, which begin with resurrection, ending in the way, how thousands of days before them, you will not hold them in your fingers - it's hard to hurt, the urgent straightening time, you come to Moscow in the evening, and you are leaving from auto and yesterday. Friends live, even badly, but somehow are worn, and what's worse, they look for yourself, one shakes muscles and is engaged, the other, here, falls in love with men. Go for breaking the dishes - the work is also, go to the forest, to sleep, shout, go on. And you stand the teeth for the world enough and think that he will hold you.

You think you're such a single one, such a slow-legged funny colossus, who wants to dive into her ice floe and hide in red dance of her hair. That you are one silent her disruptive breath and pray to the unknown face that you are ready to burn for her fucking, for the voices of a shielding hoarse. After all, it is forever together, always with a touch and she will run on your ash. And the horrity is that it really is more beautiful than the wonderful on earth.

And what you will tell you - the dishes are washed, outside the windows are evil dark five in the morning, not extended, not exhausted, not taken out of a loose satellite Nutra that thread, nerve from the tooth, lively, sensitive, cursed in a hot sick tangle, which those who believe at least On a little bit in it embarrassed in his notes is called "Love". Which time - and by, and the thread stretches, and rubs about meaningless words, that's how it will ever remain it - and how then do you extend to exist? Then, then, then, but for now everything is foaming, it flounds from his pain in captivity, do not touch, let him dry, will still be checked, stick to the string. And you will pay again, we will make everything, you feel how it is trembling there.

But now you will straighten. Play. Enjoy the bus. Stand up. And you will live.