Текст песни Ротшильд OZ feat INDB - Плачут Небеса

Combed elbows
Cuts on the wrists
This driveway lyre smokes without fire
In the dim light of hand-stained windows
With shadows in the snow from garages, our personal Compton
Draws the light of the lights of someone's monitors.
Thunderous screams of hysterical, and fiery disputes.
We smoke like a fireplace
So much smoke but we don't burn
And gray ash on our heads

HEAVEN CRYING FOR US × 4
You don't cry yourself
Your eyes are dry
. × 2

I so often in dreams, saw this day.
As in other people's heads, my trill sounds
Like a drill into the walls, it bites into the brain with its groove
And in the meantime, I will not soon become a corpse.
And the way in the dirty snow, wet traces of cars
Let them draw routes for me all the way to the top
I'll run my eyes and run at random
Breaking Boska with a grenade on the ears, I will explode

We smoke like a fireplace
So much smoke but we don't burn
And gray ash on our heads

HEAVEN CRYING FOR US × 4
You don't cry yourself
Your eyes are dry.