Аля Кудряшева - Три, два, один - 05 - Двадцать пёрышек за плечами... - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Twenty feathers behind the shoulders - flying around, it's time to melt. I go, move with keys, people stare at me. In the ears of music, Leasy the song, the voice melts around, it seemed so difficult for us, but even harder than one. Come in touch with the ether, you hear, you, I love you. The seller from the stall with Kefir calls me: "Camel." “Come,” he says, “dear, choose food for yourself” If I don’t know myself, then why will I go to him?

The air is blue with a flavor of apples, hits the beam vapor. I live while November, it turns out nothing. I'm good. Player - Shuffle. I compose poetry in the subway and knit you a gray scarf from acrylic nonsense. The city was open over me - I directly, I feel how it trembles, I drink Thursday with a CAGOR to survive on Friday, the days change hastily, the snow is transparent, the rains of the wet. I drink Saturday with beer, lowenbraun, not huhra.

I breathe with a cheap, motionless tobacco laugh. Nothing else, Kudryashov, in general, hold on to well done. Soon the session, abroad, you will give it up - you don’t give up, let's go, they say that in the morning, the run helps to comprehend the world, because you won’t surrender - and roll up the sausage, and you won’t return the past, so it’s better to learn Albanian and do not worry of someone else's garbage. Either it is a matter of jumping up, to rise, to forget about everything at all, because you are still nineteen, and he is twenty -seven, he has a wife and children, he walks through his own - why is it only for them in the world?

On the cornice, a cat was warmed up, I compose a letter to myself, I am a lump of chute crumbs in a choking pipe. To speak is all that you can, you still say not that, so smear the crying on the face, beat your lobby into the monitor. And, let's roll together, a cold emptiness awaits, you just don’t want to be happy just like that. It’s just to feel the iliac string that the wall is no longer terrible, just to squeeze your hands in the morning, and moan with joy. No, you will be before dawn, getting out of yourself a family, get out of delirium kilometers in an overheated ay-si-ku. And the dawn on the brain - a club, all roads lead to Rome. "Well, good night, beloved. So, we will agree tomorrow."

And the pavement of the asphalt is burning, as the fire burning fire, twenty fronts the sheet - a crane, landing on the palm of your hand. I am good, even very, only stupid, like brick. Since I chose me among the others - so if you please, begged. He chose, chose and, by the way, did not scold his fate.

After all, we can, if we want to be happy. I give a tooth.