панорамная телеграмма - и всё будет хорошо - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

No one loved me more than the floor, walls and ceiling.

I have a thorny blankets from thick copper wires.

The cold drove another frozen into my house,

Browned with glasses, cellophane and incomprehensible shit.

Come, drink with me, feel all the remarkability of my space,

Explain me the reason for the stormy inconstancy:

I can’t understand who I am like me, I choose from four walls,

The howl of cow -shirts is desperately knocking down.

I look at the corners, I drink, I am furious about the surface,

I'm afraid of darkness, I'm afraid to dissolve in the blackness of the unknown.

I'll tell you, dear, about those who are partly

The old plastic is chewing for lunch.

Simaches given by kerosene,

To move unbearable.

Then they sleep on fragments of broken jugs,

In order to arouse your determination.

Talking with the refrigerator

And hug with a boiler.

Trying to get off the sheets

From the seventeenth floor

on weekends,

In order not to see someone's eyes.

I'll tell you about those who are desperate:

Who does not know who he meets at the station.

Kisses the pillow trepidly at night

There is no one, but the habit remained.

With the sound of steps on the landing

the heart is fingering, and they convince that everything is in order,

Serving the cutlery with your fingers,

And nervously twitch the curtains.

I was eagerly preparing for the fact that you would not, so I managed to study all the intricacies, all the blue paths of your oxygen life, in order to draw you around my world on wallpaper in four planes. despair. I always fall asleep in bed with two pillows, because I care about your dream, even when you are not. despair. I think a lot, I am not me, I - you. I think how you, I say, move - everything is perfectly saturated with you. I write about you and share my thoughts with others, because I care about them, it seems to me that everyone around is as bad without you as I do. They allegedly smoke me, my thoughts, clog them into the phone, relish, exhale, say goodbye, leaving a hot aftertaste, perhaps the same as your smell taste. But no one will know this better than me. despair. I get very hard and painful.

We will all die, dear,

we will be borne by all,

Looking into the eyes thrown to the sky.

And enjoying the view

how the light will perish in them,

They stick a knife into the tormented faith.

They will not tell us anything

And I even smile

collapsing to the ground and drowning in the snow

In a broken dirty coat.

And I rejoice that

They will definitely find me in the spring

With the eyes thrown to the sky,

and all will be well.