Объятиясознания - щелчок - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

A click of a trigger near the temple.

History is already breaking off.

It doesn’t matter: how many lives there will be next.

The main thing is that in her current, without me, she feels happiness.

Each damn day.

Every year in order to go through not in vain and not one in anticipation.

In the arms of someone nearby. Who is close to her.

Who she does not need to wait.

Who will not convince that to die in the depths of the general grown garden is romance and love.

This person is no longer, in fact.

And the record will remain.

The scene is overshadowed.

Actors fall on a laminate.

The threads cut off the puppeteers.

Children applaud standing, not knowing that none of them cost nothing.

Some of them will not even build a foundation for a happy future.

But "ignorance" is temporary.

Life loves to present surprises.

And here he is - mine.

Briz gives in the face.

A dream, it seems to have been a dream.

I put lead under my skin there and killed.

The method is specific, probably, like the dynamics of the text.

There is no destruction of the planets. Galaxies.

There is a little boy who is waiting for the arrival of the one for which he is played-to-cow.

Who whispers affectionate words when she falls asleep.

Who will warm when she trembles.

Give your warmth and die slowly from the cold ...

But after all, near ...

And the film so faded to illuminates your eyes.

I ran along the paths of sound prose,

And the veins of the dose of warm blood.

Alcohol...

Our friend who sews us to each other is stronger than a gimmer.

And now now ... in warmth ..

At a snowstorm.

And it doesn’t matter what the TV show will say.

We’ll kill the alarm clock and still sleep ...

After all, only in a dream we will reproduce the above reality.

Continue playing sorrow notes, squeeze every tear out of me.

Sing a song about how I never understand you, I will touch my shoulders with my lips ...

Warring the body with words, and that there will never be evenings where we will endow each other with mutual -entrusted verses ...

Sing about how you burn mine in my head.

Probably not in vain.

No wonder he wrote everything.

Now there is something to put in a bonfire.

There is a chance to try to burn intangible.

Burn all my appeals to you ...

Each poem ...

But now there is only a click.

Completion.

Flaw.

An attempt to overcome something in yourself, but in vain.

The verse goes to the end.

And you are left without me on this planet, unfortunately.