Текст песни Дмитрий Данильченко - Понедельник

In the damp houses, our feelings live fungi
On different sides of the handsets,
While the minibus is kissing the birds to sleep
Post-March hot epoch of the Blad Cold;
Street will not become more over the years. Over the years there will be no city.
Only the core of cars and neon advertising.
The main thing is that mom does not hear when you leave for a thousand times,
Apart from leaving an open entrance door.
Here April shoots in the temple of an open winter,
But she manages to hide in the edges of your eyes,
That is, somewhere on the bottom,
Where the mirrors of fallen window frames explode,
In silver, they split the sunshine, gliding on trembling cheeks,
And then they hang on the bare bodies of the wires.
I will not go out today on the street, because I know that there
Crash like a cliff
Vera, hope and someone's empty
Love.
Under the wheels.