'искусство окурками - без пяти минут - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Without five minutes ...

Autumn.

We will die tomorrow, at noon, maybe in the kitchen, stirring tea with a spoon, pitying ourselves, unhappy.

Later, Sunday morning will begin with cough and temperature.

Someone again said that all the women of the fool.

No, just very trusting, there is a naive word. And we love our native rake very much.

In the news, war, robbery, violence. I'm afraid to imagine how my future generation will live. If I am a teenager with cut veins hanging on the Internet and having no purpose and values.

When without five minutes ...

Difficult.

It is difficult to open your eyes and wake up at eight. Pull the mask of vigor, drink the unwillingness to live a cup of cheap coffee and continue your everyday day.

Isn't it easier to fall asleep until noon in bed, drinking tea, reading the last chapters of a fantastic book, forgetting about despondency.

Forgetting about credit, mortgage, work, sores, just wallow and quietly live in the book.

When without five minutes

And breathing is clogged with a cough, standing in the kitchen, grabbing the air with his mouth,

understand,

What for happiness

turns out,

I needed only a book

And tea on Sunday morning

And not freedom of action and false arms.