Masta Atack - Кристи - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Your balm has come to my soul. Leave him on the soul, lei. Continue to tele the pulse. Inside me as closely, the feelings are fresh ... and I am placed under a cold, gray press.

Do not close the door, do not turn the light. Sit with me online in this darkness ...

"Hey, native, not silent" - the shop is gentle.

Christie, in this world, not even thought, hopelessly.

Pain in your palms, pain, remember, please sing ... just sing.

Speaking and let I decline from the inside, so much blood, so much noise ...

God, let's play Mono, Cry.

On different colors, polyphony too much to lie in the eye.

I say everything I wanted to write VKontakte. little good, but I want it so ...

Lei, continue to tele the pulse. inside me so closely ... people are happy. I do not know the heart endured, snatching, pour it then to fly and breaking off.

Your balm has come to my soul. I have him in the soul, keep torn the pulse. Inside me as closely, the feelings are fresh ... and I am placed under a cold, gray press.

I came to my soul. I have him in the soul, keep torn the pulse. Inside me as closely, the feelings are fresh ... and I am placed under a cold, gray press.

As before, breaking the rod. I will listen to your songs ... carefully, gently.

Hiding extra notes, leave the main thing, remember and interrupt the days smoothly.

Christie, sorry, just without unnecessary words. So they are just forgiven, she only swell.

I will leave through the door, oddly enough for the wrong one. You just balm in my life. Lei, to my last drop.

Soon you get bored, I will stay alone. After all, we are just two notes different more than ever. Two different alloy with those who are possible right. Spit on the rules. In this world, we are simply guests, do not care about the little bones.

reappear. Stop, do not go to Christie, I ask ... Stay, do not leave me ...

Your balm has come to my soul. I have him in the soul, keep torn the pulse. Inside me as closely, the feelings are fresh ... and I am placed under a cold, gray press.

Your balm has come to my soul. I have him in the soul, keep torn the pulse. Inside me as closely, the feelings are fresh ... and I am placed under a cold, gray press.