Текст песни XXV кадр - FJORD

Dark ash gloomy gray sky in March
Doesn't fit into the idea of ​​spring at all.
Like the correct idea of ​​love on the map
Life does not fit into the consonant writing on the wall.

And in a dream it's much easier to miss the train
Than in reality. It’s like we’re measuring out loyalty in steps.
In fact, by changing the equator to the pole more often,
Raising the voice to a hoarseness so that it would no longer be sung.

Possessing a memory, not as a power, but as a burden,
Merging into a single whole over time,
Realizing that in the hand is not a titmouse, but a quail,
Still, we look at past as pure, white.

And the fjords make the same noise, carrying away everything decayed,
Confused, broken, in the form of pure ice.
As if the desire to choose the lesser of two evils,
We drink the spring one greedily, as if it were holy water.