Клим Стронский - 3 8 7 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I close my eyes with a plaster

in the premises of misdemeanors,

how did I get here with this

in the morning my alter ego with a bloody head will tell

and the smell of your perfume.

A couple of hours will pass, and I won’t find a way to remove the bullet by tying my throat with tulle.

squeezing the barrel with your teeth, tearing her lips piece by piece from the burning passion,

clench your fragile wrists to the music of exhaust fumes on

lonely road

try to grab hold

hand for passing traffic,

once again to show you that I'm a loser,

falling face down in the dirt after a monastery meal.

3 minutes to evaluate your surroundings with your eyes, 8 hours to get up and keep her close for 7 thousand years, please, 7 thousand years and 23 days.

Two minutes in hand. Seven seconds to turn off the lights. I return to spring every time, but for some reason I am not here.

2 boxes of wine and seven sips in a glass, we live until the morning, keeping the gun in our pocket.