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In my room somehow cold, not to warm up, because the plugs,

Water from cold cold crane, tea without sugar, empty boxes,

Very sweet smoke of the last cigarette, diet apparently in the morning,

And if there is no longer anything else, then I will sleep happy to sleep as if.

And I dream of a warm warm house, and I dream that my mother is no longer crying, and I dream that it's not a dream, and I dream that tomorrow he will be different.

Along the street people are gray mercantile thoughts born,

Prices are above the television tower, we fight them, but they win,

As one Russian poet said: "Elections are there, but no choice",

And here again turned off the light and I will write the third verse at random.

And I dream of a warm warm house, and I dream that my mother is no longer crying, and I dream that it's not a dream, and I dream that tomorrow he will be different.

Again games for our voices, as if our leaders were smoking,

Live on a bench or starve but still stronger moral crisis,

Block and the air once, sell the country well, why pull,

And when the sun turns off for non-payment, I can calmly sleep.

And I dream of a warm warm house, and I dream that my mother is no longer crying, and I dream that it's not a dream, and I dream that tomorrow he will be different.

In my room somehow cold, in my room somehow cold, in my room somehow cold, in my room somehow cold ...