Текст песни СиндроМ - Монолог о современном искусстве

But the path of the poet - Thorn Trail
Through the dreary emptiness of reality ...
She who - Olympus, who - the grave ...
Pearls look at the bottom among the sludge -
To - work, and to whom - fate
In bookstores, like black bread,
Go to the libretto of trays soap operas ...
Sleep peacefully in the cells of the soul edges ...
To hear eternity dials
Only those who are not blinded by the neon ...

The artist got into his jacket from the designer -
After the exhibition ends reception.
He tags pasted portraits,
With a dream log on banknotes
At a celebration of life after passing the port ...
And somewhere in the museum of silence
Frozen beauty in carved frames,
And if Don Quixote in ancient armor,
By noble Damascus steel,
Stores the spiritual world of the gray country ...

At the bottom of the tunnel surrounded by walls,
Guitar neck warmed hand passionate,
Sings tramp ... The hat is in the treasury,
He throws a little thing on the bottle
The people hurrying to the subway ...
Through the stamping of feet hysterical voice is heard -
It is a bird beating in murky window
It seems that the passers-by anyway -
Their ears have long won
"Plywood" vote with glossy posters ...

Mara list ... Without vodka polupyan ...
I ran from the bustle of the other distances,
A vtine days the poet on the pedestal
Let the bronze medal at the Muses
And substitutes crown pigeon