Текст песни Негатив - Пыль

My soul is like the lead of a gray pencil
Crumbled to the bottom of a cellophane bag
In the arms of the loosened powder he contained himself
And I knew for sure that it was me who would be addicted
On that string of gray days, already hopeless today,
And to give me some pain relief, I fill out a cell notebook
In those rare moments of inspiration, the remnants of the insides
Yesterday I was writing pages, in the morning I threw the empty sheets off the table
And why do I keep fighting, blowing clouds in the kitchen
From tobacco smoke, past notes and coffee, a new line will be born
But there is only a fraction of what I could splash out on white paper
Everything else will remain in me an incorruptible slag indefinitely.

I'll break the bag into fractions of carelessly rolled lines
And a leaky brain rhymes the prose of monotonous everyday life into a monologue
And this kitchen lyrics will suddenly seem beautiful to someone,
But the life that turned rambling words into verse is so ugly
I release the brakes and live again in the illusion of dotted lines
Under a sad beat, my voice sounds, which has been waiting for this moment for a long time
To open the bonds of silence on the throat, questions confused routes
Then he fell into the dust, then he held his head with his hands, among the missed dishes
I remembered the smile of the untimely departed muse
My heart was eagerly stung by the bites, and hopelessness crushed with a load of tears
On the inside of my sad eyes
I crumbled into dust, but I raise up a fire that has not gone out.