Текст песни Olivia - Проигранный бой

The pearl black fingers in kata
Depression ball tight.
And a liter of strong coffee swallow,
They washed down with a howl.

In the mirror - a shawl, not to see
The eye of his thoughtless.
And for the thousandth time to hate myself,
Cart throwing verse.

And to keep on hand a sharp blade,
Oh, and do not drop.
Confuse everything that was so simple,
And forget the letter.

Left in the dust arachnoid yarn
Hung from the ceiling.
"And such was - someone after say -
He rolled himself into a ball.

Gone to see, leaving no trace,
It melts away like smoke.
And while, of course, will put upon
Everything on the shelves his. "

And bitter cinchona settles in the throat
Lose a fight now.
I should not have long on the battlefield
He is fighting with herself.