Vaniac - Консервный Нож - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

He squeezed his own life in his hands like a knife handle,

I ruble from the shoulder, in an attempt to make a colander out of the shell.

Great dejaugu a chance, there is an extremely round land ball.

A new person goes back, a dream was missed there.

I looked around and thought: there is no way outside to heaven,

In the world of brushed teeth and stubborn pajamas.

Pigs screech anticipating the wild flame of heat,

Accepting the manifesto of the consonant.

Those who contemplate gestalt better not to interfere,

On the water surface, a step in the image of a quietness.

The excitement is inappropriate, everything and everything is solved,

For me, a whim and a blash - to feel the arrival of the junction. Surrounded by a flock: a common charm, a common genre, a common stamp,

General, single and widespread slag.

Rarely, but it happens, it hits so that you fly out of the toe,

His symphony is point -blank in the ear of Claron.

Kaleidoscope of throws you to the bottom of the century

Puddle -colored clothing is its dressing room.

Micro-output along me, in the reserve of Mirskoye,

I gain scope and acceleration where everything has overgrown.

Mental taster, add an impulse, you need to,

Since the fact that the decline is delighted for us.

The tranquilizer-lopat buried the rudiments of talent,

Sedding bloomed and smelled, further from collapse.

More cereals, less smell of fear,

The potential in banks is rolled up for the sake of the future good.

Hopelessness will make you cry without tension,

He will abandon the anchor to where the salty slush.

We are attributes of furniture, the color is ash everywhere,

As if on a spit of plugs together, fastened together.

On a dusty tape recorder, the "REC" button burns,

Write down, reproducing the quiet delirium of the sick.

We are attributes of furniture, the color is ash everywhere,

As if on a spit together with plugs are fastened.

On a dusty tape recorder, the "REC" button burns,

Write down, reproducing the quiet delirium of the sick.

Cype of earwovers under the cranial box,

A saucer with a silver coemic flies in a garbage dump.

This is a spoonful of tar, a solonian on your beds,

An endless conflict, Shavka love skirmishes.

Increases tolerance to the expansion of the frame,

After all, the concepts of freedom are too dry and shaky.

Ambivalence bifurces the world into two crooked

I saw the horizon of the crowd without entering their ranks.

Cognitive dissonance sausages outside the scale,

From the head of the corses of ash, we will unstat the impulse.

Along the broken troughs, buried axes of war,

Hard, we are sick, the path is open to us.

Poor, life does not seem to you honey, that's how,

Here is the ice fishing, dive into the pool with your head.

You will render in the hole if there is no willpower,

Put it off, here the fog sings, here is the flight of the mind.

We are attributes of furniture, the color is ash everywhere,

As if on a spit together with plugs are fastened.

On a dusty tape recorder, the "REC" button burns,

Write down, reproducing the quiet delirium of the sick.