Текст песни Дубовый Гаайъ - Они

It will enter my head with a tiny weight
breaking the temple by the power of force
and stop in the skull with a stab
a small pebble in a mess of clay.
Splashes are scattered by red midges
blue rag patchwork the smell of burning flies
I'm a snowman with brooch eyes
whose top ball melts

This is probably impressive
or at least it looks great.
I don't care and it doesn't scare me
the prospect of me starting to deteriorate ..
What is left in me is weakness.
There is no tension in any of the joints
from relaxed fingers to the floor tiredness
with a crash of eternal relief