плюшевый - Мёртвые души - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Is my soul dead? No, she was killed by man; a music lover is obviously full of bad habits. And even though under this work of text they are crushing nonsense with a press, here skilled clerks are still boldly outlined with white chalk. After all, in these circles, literalness is at a premium, the meaning of ornate phrases often melts like snow, there are simply no priorities here. Here the indicator is the quality and cuteness of the texts, and the semantic load is completely forgotten. You scribble a rhyme for the sake of a rhyme, but you’re actually a man, come closer, bend over, congratulations from the bottom of my heart. I don’t need to treat that the soul in the tracks is not worth a penny then. And even breathing as a muse, not one step closer to a masterpiece, the era of poets has passed. It’s hard to breathe among your thoughts, everyone is just pouring shit out of the tub. Yes, and my brain is crazy, only stinking thoughts are flickering in my head. When will people have their own opinion? For now, at least hit them like a flock of pigeons. I am sure the day will come, I hope neither the last nor Pompeii, that we will be driven neither by fashion trends, but by the originality of our own ideas.