Текст песни Артём Дроздов - Повесть Подлых Лет

Painted faces
A bright color of lies
All will merge with the crowd,
Your "I" is not in fashion here.

Choose the crowd you like
Believe the news from the newspapers
After all, you are already gone
In this tale of mean years.

There is only one rebellion, it is the most subtle
Divide the world into "I" and "Everything",
But you're spinning like a gear
In this hellish wheel

Where there is a price tag on everything
Where the name of the darkness is the upper light.
Proprietary delirium
In this tale of mean years.

And they grow up here before the deadline,
Like the first snow in the summer.
They don't understand how lonely it is
The person disappears.

Making way for the beast
Bringing myself to naught-
In the hearts of concrete, gray.
This is a tale of mean years.