Текст песни Поэт без усов - не ошибёшься

I overturned happiness to us - spoiled.
Falling liters then, with what not to get used.

Rainfall
With a living liquid -
Moisture morning returns.
See, she collects dew?
She inside also spikes.

Wait for her hands,
On them scars.
Hugging.
Not. Rolling.
Each scar to kiss,
Lying beauty in the hopelessness of ripped wounds.

Klyanu: Lubbies every drop in capillars.
Love - when you take what another has not surrendered to the gift.