Зомбяк нашего времени - Сергей Минаев. Дyxless. Повесть о ненастоящем человеке. - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Once again, I spit from the memories of yesterday's chick, and especially about Sashin Exrasus. I am so vile that I am already a rubbish in the shower with a washcloth several times. There would be such a washcloth that could have wiped all the dirt from his soul. And stay clean all the time. As you were twenty years ago.

I lie, smoke a cigarette and think about how people who once close to you become such freaks?

What changes them? What changes their faces, behavior and consciousness? How quickly can you go from the first hit in a party to complete degradation?

Have you ever thought about the question, why are all those people whom you see in the evenings in restaurants, boutiques and presentations are very rarely found during the day? Or do not meet at all? Where does all this funny crowd disappear, similar to each other, like cigarettes from one pack?

For example, I think about it constantly. And, comparing many facts that seem attracted by the ears, but in fact lie on the surface, I came to the conclusion that these people simply do not. No, of course, my assumption has nothing to do with the “city of the dead”. Everything is not so scary. Everything is much worse ...

Half of this city simply does not exist. In my opinion, the space inside the garden ring in the evenings turns into a kind of computer toy inhabited by people by dummies. Once they were normal people, they had dreams, “souls are beautiful impulses”, problems and life concerns. But then, at some point, they realized that it was easier to turn into characters of glamorous magazines, heroes and heroines of the dance floor, fairies of the catwalk and restaurant knights and plates. Turn your life into an atmosphere of a round -the -clock party and become the very “night inhabitants” advertised at all corners. The constant rays of the sofits weaned their eyes to perceive daylight, the solarium lamps made it impossible to be on the daytime sun, tons of perfumes and cosmetics, coupled with drugs and diets, gradually dried their bodies, and relevant magazines and entertainment television did the same with their brain. In the end, they turned into the shadow of people, into a kind of invisible, who can leave the house only at night, when artificial lighting hides what is under the makeup of makeup, Prada dresses, Cavalli jeans or Brioni costume " - the void is hidden. That is why you will never meet them during the day on the streets of Moscow. Fear that someone will see that there are no eyes under the dark glasses of “Chanel”, and their faces are simply drawn, forces them to stay at home. Day is the time of people, while night is the time of mummies.

Of course, it is much easier to wrap the inner void with the dress with the code and sit with a mummy in some kind of cafe “Pyramid” or the Ramses bar, looking at the photographs of the party members than to live a person’s life, with his problems, victories and defeats. Anyone has a goal in life. In the world of mummy it is not. As not, however, and life itself. There is only an existence in an atmosphere of emptiness.