Кирилл Лермонтов - Мальвина - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Apathy for weekdays.

That feeling as if with a temperature in bed: rather I want to open up, rather than change something.

And in every dream come back in the summer, squeezing envelopes of happy tickets. Do you remember? Neighbors called, wrote, they just drawn out of the schedule, each passerby watched us after. We are no more in this reality, from this moment we just do not exist. Sometimes the voices / scream can not be heard, in the bunch of love choking in the blood. Not every receiving letters - happy. But your voice trembled so much, not cold, just played with nerves, lymphs squeezing, artery sleepy, just together we loved to fly. For degrees Celsius Merily heartbeat, and the milgrims of tears measured longing. You just understand that in depressed without you I can not live. Just understand my sadness and sadness, I desperately rushed to you, in kilometers of blood spilled blood in the asphalt, a clock at the point or in an empty CPR. Piero choke in verses or songs, and I remember the kisses on the reverse. Remember, Malvina, native palms, remember even under the peroiderol. Skidy more, Malvina, and cut your hands, Pierrot cut off, hanged himself in the bathroom. Your curls sparkled in the sun, but will now remove the depression of the spell? Sad people hung in the district, empty eyes discovered the truth, in empty supermarkets at night and drunk, in search of only captive happiness. distance from people and trains, and trams, sad people turned to us; They loved to love and were loved, but Jura, we were all here for a long time. You were called on science, and I was sick, you poured the whiskey, and I was all in the blood, you were trying to rape you in the soul, and I'm just sick and fuck do not need. Write suicide notes on Twitter, and a photo on a tambler bays and sob, forget about the sadness, this crumpled drank on the knees is spilled, but we need a sadness. Pierrot wrote about it, do not remember lich. Pierreo Spriered and died on Vykhino, in the smooth crunch-five-story building, knowingly knew about our tragedy. Skidy more, Malvina, and cut your hands, Pierrot cut off, hanged himself in the bathroom. Your curls glittered in the sun, but who will now remove the depression of the spell? Sad people hung in the district, empty eyes discovered the truth, in empty supermarkets at night and drunk, in search of only captive happiness. In the distance from people and trains, and trams, the moment will come when I get out drunk from the windows on the dirty asphalt pavement, the crescent broken, with a broken fate called you on scab, and I died; You loved so much, Madame Curie, you no longer really have a gram, and I witnessed the life of the final, Malvina.