Gillia - Я публикую сны - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

The appearance is stiffness, the bodies are combed, under the hell to hell, I publish dreams on the board of honor. Another jump. Children, we feel bad, Kagua, children, we are bad for us for a long time adults. I have been washed off the deck, I can’t surfacing, my gaze into a cry, silence is just bubbles. The one -legged sprinter died at the start of the distance from loneliness. My laughter and dancing are fitted by the humor of the croats, seasoned with young ones, upset by tired strings became stooped, as if dried, dangled souls chatting cheekily. You can’t leave it. And the remnants of you in your memory with threads. After all, the death is to forget the tweezers, bracelets, rings and chains in the piles of these sheets of these, newspapers on Glovanseva, the seizure from the ceiling looks at me. I give him my notebooks, my models of the world, my thoughts stolen from him and give spray, eternal pain of the eyes, rods of caresses, blood is smeared with a hundred miles per hour from under the wheels. I throw you all my flags, the phalanx of cracks are sealed with the scheme of the days of prophetic. In front of such a miserable universe veins, I publish dreams on these white walls. In front of such a miserable universe vein with coals, I draw dreams on these white walls.

And with cranes, the game for a moment, like wounds flows, freezing, I do not sleep, I caress in this bathtub already not blinking.

I am the madness of three ceilings, pushed into fangs, a stream of screaming crookedly knocked against the walls with sleep, is executed by an alarm clock, and how much dust there. My Beelmo, only with a file, an engraved eye in the blood will see this world smeared with colors. Steal them. After all, my dreams are contrast to black and white, so infrared. In the pronouncement of publications, I see the ceiling in the entire projection, on it before the Sun in forty degrees Celsius aims, and their goal is not a face, but my heart. After all, it is death to forget the crosses and nets and wires braiding sheets into the ceilings, with which I gave my blanks of dreams, all my dreams, a drawing of worlds and layouts of void. Before such a small world in the size of one dream, before such a small faith in one morning, die in this room, because there are an alarms, and the gods, they are demanding in the faithful. The worlds in front of such a miserable universe in the vein with my nails I scratch dreams on these white walls ...