Текст песни Pb - Бессонница

I came to my home
I took out a cross soldering iron,
Turned off the Volga.
I could not sleep for a long time.
What is the reason?

Nearby feather bed
With a naphthalene core.
Pork.
Program.
Old telegram
With a vanillin attic!
Where the Vaseline knife is
Lead grows there from clay.

As the scribe said in the epic,
How were the times in the valley
When we looked at Mr. Bean's reviews,
When the Finns brought us Schweppes with pizza,
When we got lead from the swamp ...
Or from the desert
In Palestine ...

And then they handed over to scrap metal
And they bought knives from Steam.

Chopped ingots with an ax
And they sold it in Rome.

Opened with a spoonful of rum
And they were breaking out of the fishing line.

Like alcohol from Putin
Father Leonid Agutin.

Pavel Dubognutin.
Zhora Nezasnutina.
Vasya Do not shove-na.

My shelf was ruined
Gnomes on the side.
The valves are bent;
Drowned pretzels.
The money didn't notice
The plumber was not met.

From the ruins of ethics
We have built the package.
From the memory of god
We made dens.
From lead mold
They danced songs.
From darmstadt ingots
Made gestalts.
From the fragments of youth -
Violins and Violas.
Of suicide somersaults -
Basalt walls.

Single crystal systems
The theorems were proved.

Trains fly from long tunnels
Instead of wheels, a red star.

Crowds of creators emerge from dark palaces,
Images of butt ends rise from puddles of mud.

From plastic dissolved in sinful acetone
A new unfolded swastika appears.

White bodies leave deep holes on the ground,
Distant shadows recede from the red walls of the front

On black polygons
The image of God appears.

That was the reason.