Текст песни Мартин Колфилд - atmospheric

In the yard July
But again the snow under the legs.
Someone is afraid to become a monogamous,
Someone is drunk.
And Ponut cry, as if you are not Obama?
Without Panama, I will read your verse-propaganda.
Bandan has not seen a long time, everyone is going on style.
They are afraid to be not fashionable, they are not afraid to be zombied.
Verse - not wings of Gabriel,
But something teaches
Maybe not you.
But I'm not afraid to be tortured.
Scroll through those films in the head with a hay and needle.
Rock blank before working in the cell.
Couch potato.

Sense did not disappear
As you probably wanted.
In epitheats, metaphors
For 12 days, props.
My collapse is when my dust dispel in the wind.
To my mental state somehow fuck.
See not overload your cabin
From the stream of the information you can kill.
Thanks to the vehicle: I did not forget what I am.
July in the yard, I wrote to you again.

Yeah, everyone was afraid to be afraid.
These phobias like insects are already a lot.
For me, she is alone - being buried alive.
Meet my name Martin Colfield.