Аля Кудряшева - Я хорошая, даже очень, только глупая, как кирпич - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

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

Air is blue with a taste of apples, hits the bead with a random 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 opened over me - I directly feel how to tremble, I drink Thursday with a kagor to survive on Friday, the days change hastily, the snow is transparent, the rains of the wet. I drink Saturday with beer, lowenbraim, not huhra.

I breathe with a cheap, motionless tobacco laugh. Nothing else, Kudryashov, in general, holding on to the well. 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 you better learn the Albanian and do not worry of someone else's garbage. Either it is a matter of jumping up, going up, forgetting 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 chopped crumbs in a suffocating pipe. Speaking is all that you can, you still say not that, so smear the crying on the erysipelas, 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 squeeze your hands in the morning and groan with joy. No, you will be before dawn, getting out of yourself a family, to take off kilometers of delirium in the overheated ay-si-ku. And the dawn on the brain-dubin, all roads lead to Rome. “Well, good night, beloved. So tomorrow we will agree. ”

And the pavements are burning, as fire burning fire, the twenty -first leaf - a crane, landing on the palm of his hand. I am good, even very, only stupid, like brick. Since I chose me among the others - so if you please now, be patient. He chose, chose and, by the way, - he did not scold his fate.

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