перерывпятьминут - жпс - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

You are mine, but I'm not yours.

In the membranes of strangers, we ourselves.

Alien among strangers, a stranger among their own.

In the midst of the night, a cry, a luggage of a psycho.

This is not the first time I am surprised at what I saw, the seams were broken by the vile mussels, the light and the Faust dancing on the bones of the children fell on the bones (?).

You are tired of me, but I'm attracted to you.

Until the morning I sit next to me and stroke your hands with cigarettes between vile fingers.

This is Kinder Surprise.

He will indicate the road, here is your Kinder Surprise.

He is the poetry of the syllable, this Kinder Surprise on the gum will spread, pleasant.

It is not possible to forget soon and for 12 hours turn into grief.

Delhi Kinder Surprise with me by captivity.

At the back of me is Sunday, my birthday, a bottle of champagne for a hundred dollars.

The hare and someone in Musarne.

The pain is unbearable.

Lightness of Being.

And I kiss this woman easy.

Potential soap in a concentration camp called Russia.

Marina and Lyuba, what are you not in the club?

Grandfather was stuck in a flowerbed.

Here is rubber nonsense to replace rubber whores.

Fun - cut off a piece of carbonade and stab in the mouth pressing on a casserole as in childhood.

Not once again, do not put in a word about old people.

Also sin.

Sit down, of course, here is my place.

And the dove of the soul shit everywhere.

In place where the reapers of regret sat down.

The same apostle, hieroglyphs, encryption and alphabet Morse.

Plus you are not mine.

Plus you are not mine.

You are not mine.

The memory is interrupted.

Plot?

He is not.

And the bus with people from coins into the distance rides.

The graveyard is not visible.

Fiercely accepted.

The bus ringing, tell me hello.

There is a maple of screaming in the wind.

I will get to the window and throw it in a ditch.

The curls of the lady were slightly dull.

Wheat color expires dawn.

The road conveyor rushes through time.

The Veda is waiting for years, a secret.

The bus is instantly hollowing, losing weight.

Poles liars, misses me.

The whole world is the transport of the “glass” (?) Salon of empty places.

And I expected my homeland that will drink me and eat me under the blue.

I know that this ballast is unknown.

I know that there are no empty places.

I know that you have to pay for travel.

I know that there are no empty places.

There are no empty places.