антон прада - Рецепты от белого кролика - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I collect other people's secrets.

And you spend the night on unheated bedrooms. You are running around the apartments and behind the grinder. In search of a magic rabbit. Girlfriend of a violent home poet. Draws crosses/poles and zero with chalk. And he says that I have homophobia, agony of thought, iron fascist logic. I'm under sage. From the last frosty Tuesday. The assault on rebranding and marketing. You propose to do / in online / spiritual petting. which will not end. The last word is behind me, but I don't want anything.

I see something like that ...

I have something like this ...

Recipes are written. Everyone smiles. The line moves smoothly.

and we. Well, who we are. strangers. February does not like your preludes. How will it lie from above. How to fiddle. You begin to freeze. and call all saints

for help