Gillia - Утро - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The morning is restless. The expectation of joy is inhibited - from her a certain chest pain. The love of two. Love is twice as strong. The power of their feeling inside is fraught with something. He took her to the hospital, where the shabby pediments of the sky flowed into pieces of cardboard. For so long minutes, biting, when new eyes would be born: some brown, others - green. They tuned alarm on the walls of sleepy sirens. She was already in the ward in white. The body in black. Someone nearby circled the contours with chalk. He represented her with a meek angel who could withstand everything, who was woven from faith. He raised her to the heavenly arches, he represented them four in the park flooded with the light of the park.

One at the entrance with his back saw distorted shadows of exit on the wall. They saw their backs at the entrance with their backs.

Something was beating about the family, but a certain pain in his chest pressed the angel to the ground. There are no tears in the eyes, in the eyes there are unsuitable eyes - only green. other. other. Other brown, they cannot be made brighter in any way. She lost her children, her boys. In vain she knitted socks, in vain went up, in vain knitting their children's hopes about going out. And the stains of sadness were not washed further. Her thoughts no longer existed. She lay on the floor, squeezed her knees with one hand, with the other temple, squeezed out a bullet and slowdown. Slow down. Slow down. Drowning sharply, racking the nodes of the loops, decorated the colorless red, hugging her children. And the colors in the moans mixed. Even in watercolors, such a variety of soot was not expected. It seems that scales on the palms or feet of the legs are misunderstood, groaning. He broke them yesterday on the road, barefoot. Throw to the edge of the world is not so simple. "I hate you!" - He shouted, shooting the mirror. In fragments, something was finely faded. He climbed on a tree, thought, he would get to the sky again, but did not find it. So tomorrow will dig. Cracking hopes, in chests with scarves. Base with gold on an empty occasion. He came to naught, like them all, but there was only one who was outside the threads, and a bullet, flexible and unconditional, was already sitting inside.

One at the entrance with his back saw distorted shadows of exit on the wall. They saw their backs at the entrance with their backs.

The sidewalks were monotonously. He kissed the bar of the bar, drank again. Then tell me a cocktail story about how you became yourself, tell me how Gene died. And how many seasonings were put into it, so that it took so tightly from one sip. Now you have to fulfill my desires, sewing up bandages, which seems to come to life. He thought who he became and who he would not - a piece of lemon on the rim of a glass, or a homogeneous fluid of a high mass on the side of the nodal highway. “Yes, I don’t care, it’s all the same,” he thought, by morning, becoming a white angel Pierrot. He lay embracing his knees. Barely breathing due to medicines, completely one in a building with flexible walls.