Текст песни Пиэм - Развилка

Verse I:

the fork fell - no one came
got up on a stool, but I don't remember the rhyme
this is a kind of flash mob
all life is like an old joke, no longer funny

and there are no plans for tomorrow
just a couple of golden bazants, fifa fifteen and a stalker
stay in contact leafing through spam pages, advertising
poke all at once bookmarks, then back to the main

the fork fell - lifted and wiped
I was so cursed by my damn city
a whiner will choke in it
trying to find a way out won't fucking work
I need a change of scenery and I drop the plug
if someone pulled out by the roots
but who became close without hiding a smile
will declare in a moment that I am an avid nobody

and then my best qualities are only visible
when you show pictures with me in HD
and I must confess that I myself was very afraid
the same damn city, but I am the bearer

a fork fell with a knife between the ribs
The question of life and death has long been solved
people fall with the clink of metal
I drop the fork, I say that she fell again

Verse II:

Anger bursting like years fed from a knife
The troubles that spiraled me without knowing
When is it time to stop this cycle
And overcome the gloom, but for now I am a friend to the crows.
Smash a plate on the face of aprons for luck
But it's not like saying goodbye to your favorite china.
They spoke to me in a voice, but alas with a heavy sigh:
So that I gather my courage, but I'm going to die.
Not infrequently
I was looking for delight in different tablets.
Letters in notebook cells
Locked up the clerk's thoughts.
They are about the one whose look over his shoulder,
Like salt on a wound
Wheels have nothing to do with
But something rams a dream.
In which he lived for two years with his Madonna,
But as a bastard he destroyed our house made of cardboard.
From languid sparks eyes burned with Rome of Nero,
So I want to go back to the vastness of the oneyron.
But time will not return and clouded the fate of the lens,
I hid my sorrow behind a mask of fatalism.
Yes, this is a sign of weakness, but this cross is tired of carrying,
That there is no mouth or verse that can be conveyed inside.
Right on lampposts the city hangs its noose
But I pass them under the aromas of petricor.
Left home looking for a dose of endarfin
But he was greeted by a warm "hello" with a smile from Efidrin.