Текст песни Jam - Каждому свое

The merry is not a game,
Black painted white wall
On the fields two shooters
In hell, in non-existence
Someone will tell little things,
But everyone has his own.
There is a little choice
Stand or leave.
Here they consider games
Stupidity with people.
Here is a prologue written,
And then goes.
Stretches for thoughts
to each his own.
Who considers gold,
Who is burning in fire,
Whose soul isobot
True in the blood.
Who will write down
Fragile glass
Who remained superfluous
To each his own.
Torn patterns tears will not erase
And in the dawn with madness, you just can't leave
Because all are complicated, all
Even impossible
To each his own.
Bucks off, old sins,
Every combat blood like poems
And flies crucified life on the edge,
Damned swirl, each his own.
And throwing daring from sunset to ...
Before dawn of nasty, each one.