13.Копюшон - Я не пустой - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

This is some year, I became strange, my snow does not melt,

No longer feel people, fall out, everything absorb

And my Ministry of Health is a diop, I hide my hands in the hatch jackets,

I take a step, tight flow, loying boiling water on the corner. I am macaroni in a dish, like a microphone loves lips,

My microworld, my soul, overflowing the bullet. I became the poster of my days, glue poster into orbits,

Current autographs of those days, fuck your fashionable toggle switch.

Mr. There is no Balahon, Mr. - in the pockets empty,

Mr. blows the whole brain, remove the hands with the pulse.

I will put my bridge from the places where people rules revenge,

I will crawl and eat, I'm not looking for fate in the entrance. Drip tears on a summer day, you turned into rain,

I turned into Mr. Nou Mo, but you will not come back.

You close the world with my eyes, my idols are clouds, I'm slowly going crazy, but it does not treat us. Only the speed rhythm of the eye, which smacks in your clothes,

Only a pair of cracks circling the waltz in the left minibus.

I am a foreign Lirik Bruz, fly poems in the wind, you do not taste a ton rut from the patient in white.

Let the twins of Chui birds fly words from dreams,

From distrust in my rap I have full SOP

Well, why in the nodes my world, why evil theater,

In my sneakers a lot of holes, but I have to hide them.

I hide in dreams in myself in my own blood stoods,

I mumbled on myself for a feeling of pain. Often sing me the sky sounds of votes to me

This is the only way to sound on the disks.

And I just want to reach the stars, I hears VZGA,

But still I reject the world, kicking leaves. Lew on the contracts of whiskey, hundreds, threw, bitch, letters,

You were hell, and now walking in black lists

. Under his window I am looking for the grave of our friendship under his window, people decided for you that he writes about themselves.

I have a broken gap in the chapter on Duri letters,

And in polished squares I will expire my friend.

Dad Play me a song by a ringing echo strings,

Let the bleeding, fuck, all wounds - I will wait for the spring.

Tons of snow in cities let all sadness fall,

Black sky, I'm in delight, take in the palm of hand. We were alien songs about the war, hoarsely glory,

And I do not see the war among you here, I see weakness.

Tragic stuff robust all psyche kiosks,

And the sellers say to me in the next and offer to move.

I will tell you my prison behind the ribs of curves, grew windows windows from eyes to the floor.

We all have their own reason to live and sweep without a fight, we have our own reason in the dosages of pain.

I would like to ask a question, but not to give an answer, you do not taste a ton rut from the patient in white.

And for my window fly like flocks of birds berets,

And the borders of Breda will be spinning. I do not need to strip beds too early,

I need to know who I am, but I hinder the Honor.

In my eyes, in my hands, in my skies, wounds,

I'm with a poverty of the soul on you, but the hall shouts to me Bravo.

I'm not empty, I'm not empty, I'm not tired of the signal, you send your life at the tips of the hair.

I am not empty, I'm not empty, I'm not tired, so it is necessary, but the question sounds in my head "Tell me, who are you?". (4 p)