Сны моего неба - История Одного Трипа - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I sit and listen in desperates .. the knuckles of the wheels and the click of the mouse. Mouse? This is diminishingly apparent.

But judging by the sounds, my finger is clearly stingy on caress. Otherwise why should he yell like an old half-hearted cart?

I sit and scroll through the unknown frame of his covered thoughts. They crowd meaningless symbols to pinch or convert each other. Sometimes it seems to me that this is a Babylonian pussy. Hundreds of different languages ​​... thousands of words from nowhere and in anywhere who cannot understand each other in the general gonor, in the chaos of speech unconsciousness.

I throw the network into this many-sided stream, and I slow down. Whatever to remain ourselves and maintain the structure of consciousness ... which is trying to grow billions of small chain hands.

"Give us a particle yourself! The disconnection of your me! The disconnecting of my me .. And I feel ... After all, we love you!"

Scream to me invisible fingers ... The main thing is not to melt and not lose them. Clearly remember about the body .. on a red common chalet with a darkened back, on which the time froze .. and the floor.

I dive deeper and it seems to me that I came to my senses. Transferring from broken light into meat and bone, frozen in a ridiculous Istangan pose. And only my eyes ... run there here here here ... on small plasticine legs, allowing me to consider yourself and evaluate the changes that have happened.

From the height of the right shoulder, I see only covered with skin of the dice sticking out lonely stumps. Standing on the brush left hand - my eye sees the perfect muscles! Stitched threads ... Wow by the brainchild of Frankenstein. Mirage? Optical illusion of vision If you want .. But no one can cancel, cancel what is already happening .. it runs down and collapsed through stained glass windows with heavy palms on a fragile glass face. And I feel like a cheek scatter thousands of small cracks.

Of course, I have something to say, but this is exactly what I will leave with him .. After all, so much loses the person when he is trying to prove others that he is that he was and will be next.

"Tell me .. Open ..."

But I'm not going to prove anything after all I am flowing like a stream. Running a rapid flow from there where you ask too many questions about the transparency of my blood and the density of my karma.

Catch the stream does not see your hands and you will be the bonus of my catchers ... whose breath I guess the shadows behind my back.

It seems seconds have become sharper ...

Yane believe you and my memories. They are too much like the monuments ... Their legs are drown in stones related years ... and watch only one point. Epicenter of lowered consciousness .. and the world. Birds are sitting on them, kids throw snowballs. Tourists are photographed with my memory as a cousin. Homeless lumps of human looseness sleep on them ... And the tired janitor sighs seeing a new drawing .. on a stone body, like autograph street paint.

- Good afternoon Monsieur. And tell those how to go to the city center. I really need a monument to Marcus.

- ABOUT! Young man .. Nowadays no one is interested in architecture. Of course, of course .. I spend you. Let's go for me ..

I laugh and jump into the wall. The features of the monitor froze tightly. Slowing up the whole eternity is a giant phantom through ancient plaster and in a ventilating mine.

Empire of fussy insects and small .. microscopic life! Well .. they seem to be surprised and frightened ...

- Hey Hell Sam! Long time no see!

- How I have not seen you for a long time

- Not! Not! Jam .. What is it? This guy, behind you, in your hands a knife .. Jam! Net! JEEM!

- Lord .. I do not understand what happened to this damn world ..

Blowing out on the street I dance as told the air ... Street winds feel prey and rushing at me as a sale ... Trying to delay and open. They tell me "Thank Sir", sing and go on thin tentacles ...

"Outdoor sale of dancing air. Waters. Flip. Awerry Sale of Sunlight! Dancing Drawn Air ... Wake! Yes Friends .. we turn.

Sir Do you want to have a dancing talked air? To your bowler will suit .. not otherwise. Very much