Никита Булатов - Бутылки - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

My little world is the point

Thousands of destinies are woven together

and people like bottles break

In an instant of life, they simply crumble fragments

The cat died

Fake plays with glare

I often observe paintings and each deserves books in their drama, not inferior to German movies

regular customers I know well

Uncle Vanya, for example, has been handing over bottles for 15 years

We are often talking about life

recently argued about the materiality of thought

philosophers are pancakes, but it is not enough to speak time, a constant flow of customers

And now the very young Seryoga just hit him in childhood - as a result, disability, in a drunken delirium, he often dreams of communism

Vera Stepanovna both of her sons were killed in Afghanistan, drowning grief in a glass, I serve it out of line

The old woman barely walks in the waste ditch

Nearby, the homeless bum of Pashka found shelter, but he was a former lawyer with experience, he just fell and fell asleep, and his wife doesn’t need a disabled person, but I see these two kids quite often and their mother

For all 6 months that I have been working here, I have never seen it sober, and sometimes a professor comes to me, one of the honest, does not fundamentally take bribes, so I have to earn extra money, I am glad to him, he knows a lot of interesting things, and seems to be, it seems, it seems, it seems, it seems like , I saw Stalin alive

After all, young children also often come in, call me politely, Uncle Nikita

In the evening, I often remain to work on the dishes, thinking about people that I see every day, someone just passed the accumulated, and for someone this is the only way to survive-in the real world I am superfluous. My place is among these beggars

The bottles are ringing like bells, in the head of the glare of the appearance of people from the fiber, which the difficult fate of the