Подземный Принц Хатт - Cobra - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I see a dream. It has ichtyander in the cylinder. He silently goes out the window, in the prime of strength, like Astrid Lindgren. Not reaching the ground, without scattering himself with a bunch of fragments, he was silent and hung, curling into a fucking cocoon, woven by the hands of God. And there are so many of them below. And they all want something: vision, food, spectacles, truth, rise from the knees or get to your feet. Having spared something about the clouds that they kind of people are alone, I will drink to the bottom, and again the light sword in the hands of a drunken Skywalker is enough. The owner of the purest bones, on an elephant of flies past the secret evening, various stripes, dirty passions, he is rather intentionally stupid. And any new exclamation here acquires a number, like a coat, this is a Youth Theater, a wardrobe. And then the reading of Barto’s poems, after which, alas, no one gets back from clothes. The subway, screening, in the compartments of the bait at all, did not live, here, sowing, mandrazhit. A full hall and a bunch of hands there: Gorod, Gromozeca and Shiva. A sickle on the veins. And instead of the hands of help, the days stretch, cat tails stretch, I was tired and cooing, but the spark - and the bridges will become flaming, but they come here as in Khovrino. Redut of one -eating look of goblins. The flocks of hyenas are waiting for a failure. Everything about everything about everything is terribly few. dream. In it I was not born on Monday, in it all my plans did not fly to the pussy. third -person view. Walk on a flat road dumb. I will feed you anger, like Titus Andronika Detin Tavron. How much is not shaking above everything, the caravan goes, and the dogs bark. No need to pour water to see: this is not a contest of tearful T -shirts. Huyna happens, but everything is on the pipe and to the sky. Life is a hut, which asks rude to the bowels without debate and left replicas. Those who have light yesterday are shameful today with bread and salt. And I am under the noktyurn of drainage from the Kesvshin house with the past caisson. Under the hood. forever gloomy and, of course, angry, but know: unlike other snakes, the cobra will not touch her until her music with her