Саша Македонский - ...то что для меня значит Мы - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

You know, I like to wake up so much, turning my face towards the first sunlight. No matter where we are. Moscow or Amsterdam, on what kind of sheets, Hilton or old house, the main thing is that we are in it. Together. Rejoice to the new day that looked at our window, and a light smell of bakery, flying into the window through the colorful curtain cloth. Aviling, slightly rub you for a funny, disheveled short forelock, at night, so ridiculously tangled my lips, in color similar to the knuckles of grandmother's dominoes or smoked chopped pipes. Pull off the canvas of a warm blanket and cover your dark shoulders with it. Remember our first evening, night, morning and day. Pretend to be sleeping when you are already wandering around the room and I am still too lazy to get up and you can lie a little. Drink Lawazza. Kiss. Mumble a rubbish under your breath, another Beyonce song or a soundtrack from the wizard of the country of Lake. Watch how you cut Mozarella and tomatoes. Argue. Regarding and without - laugh.

Change in order to be together. Having kneaded a cool dough, not everyone, because, it is taken to bake good bread from it. Everyone has their own individual recipe for happiness.

Changing the concept, I like to drink light birch juice with you, dinner, sitting obliquely when you put your leg on my knees, dressed in a gray knitted track. How great is all, my god, how a little we need to be happy, and not evil and empty, with white faces from wax and powder with gold earrings, in gray everyday life, in the tone of the curved modernity, dusty being, defense. Fly over the abyss, eternity, stupidity, closing from human envy and separation.

Wash your hands in the lake, sebaceous from baked potatoes and barbecue, barely washed, slightly wipe your fingers with a terry towel, or, as in childhood, put them dry under the sun. Running along the shore by pulling each other for swimming trunks, sit on a rickety old shop in the park under the lantern, give sincere gifts, laughing to dirty you in whipped cream from a can with a whitish meadow. Roll on a sled, look at the photo dated yesterday.

Cinnamon and ginger sprinkle a charlotte, just removed from the oven, so tasty smelling of an apple and sweet carrots. Dexteauly pour into clay mugs, from a bottle of engraving, dense, like May honey, red wine. Celebrate a joint year, watch an album and think ... yes ... for a long time ....

Without hind legs, fall on the calico linen standing with a stake from ironing, hear your native whisper in the ear: "Hey ... Sashka .." and feel on the lips a light mint flavor of a pistachio toothpaste, your constant handwriting. This is what we mean for me. I love you. Highly.