J22 - продавец снов - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Dream seller

Dull light in a men's locker room, a cold sticky tiled floor.

Urgent dirty walls, heaped cabinets, a terrible, unbearable headache.

It seems to me that there’s just nowhere to fall below - here it is the bottom - a shabby temple of consumerism,

Money, money and money again - unfortunately, only these mercantile thoughts brought me here.

I want to sleep terribly - night work quite easily slows down and destroys fragile consciousness,

Live at least until the next morning, the main thing is not to die in his expectation,

But it seems time to go to work again - now I will return to a brightly lit, noisy, wretched trading hall,

I will fill the windows with alcohol and waters, despite the wild irritation and what is tired,

And the fact that I did not sleep for several days in a row - all this for the purpose for which is needed, however, considerable funds,

Where did I only endure humiliation in me? In me? Also not completely crossed in the soul of childhood,

The noise of your carts stuffed with foods and other unnecessary rubbish is given in the temples,

I fill the lower shelf - a little girl steps on my fingers - her mother smiles very nicely

In general, a continuous drama, and not work, also gave tasks today, as yesterday, as always - to horror,

Nearby, annoyed and dissatisfied after their working day with boring and stupid faces people -

Or rather zombies, their empty glances at the fractions of the seconds stop at me and I have time to see everything -

As in their eyes the hope lights up that someone is harder than them. How everyone likes each other to hate.

Dry, chronic cough rings the chest and space with its decibella,

I drop glass containers on the floor and shudder with each piece of my instant body, a weakened body,

The cleaning lady quickly finds the source of sound and drills me with a destructive, meaningless look,

I’m trying to smile politely (I know that it doesn’t work out very much), I’m spreading my hands - they say, with whom it doesn’t.

I look at the clock - the time for two nights. Silence. The hall is empty - visitors have long been gone.

Sometimes, however, loners come in - who is just to warm up, and who from the insomnia with moths flying into the world.

The erotic magazine is dull at the entrance, a tipsy and a half -worn security officer,

He sighs heavily above each picture - here they are his nightly secret desires and secrets,

In the meantime, the insignificant slag pours on the radio - the same type, formal next shit,

I have long been accustomed to judging music about the degradation of society, it is good at least the player is prudent with me today.

It would be as soon as possible to finish work, go out, watch how the city comes to life in complete solitude,

Great greetings to all those who will whine today, that they didn’t get enough sleep - bastards, from me - good night!