Текст песни Данни Белый - XIV

Bends of shadows on rough asphalt
equal to the lines of her acute-angled clavicles.
There is no part of it to be found in this space
what is close to me, the more particles.
November is cold under my coat
the avenues are noisy with an angry neighbor,
and to hide - the entrance to the subway,
where the marble is unaware of the presence of snow.
This is where hate is born
to everything that is metallic.
However, there is still hope,
though what hope is if the light is electric?

Feel the presence in every detail
the one whose eyes, breaking into hundreds of grains,
leave an attempt to return inevitable
into the world of forearms, wrists, collarbones.