marikmarakesh - Письма убитого человека - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Take my music, my poems, I don’t need a name either, and take it. Run my blood along the river, everything that remains of me, spin, scuries. My eyes have giggled, now they are yours, and as a gift to your hands - create, create. Let the bastards continue to add zeros, wrap my hair and nails into the ships, yes, I have to put on you like coals, these lines seemed to be well. You only provided assistance, but did not help, and we threw back the hooves, sunk into oblivion. This is not your idol, it is your inner world, it makes these letters be wiped to the holes. For some reason, they chose fat between fat and life, they forgot the route, passed the landmark.