Текст песни Костя Чудинов - Бумажные самолётики

Summer was red and it is not
It is not in vain that we are too windy
The world is not over behind the gardens
The star burns brighter at midnight
This is not old age, but a breaking voice
For those who have lost the runway

Fairy tales are over, become more than
Face-to-face betting with the retail world
The air is compressed to a point black
Someone brings an even carnation
It's too cold in an empty room
Too tiny, too greasy

Matter of the past does not move
It's just sickening and I can't believe
A dusty sheet won't become a sail
Someone else's train all past the station
And the road to the ring shrinks
Because we are returning

The cities behind are huge
Only they are homeless anyway
Our paper airplanes
Our paper pistols
Our paper boats
Our speckled paper sky
Our paper life is front

Summer was red and it is not
Summer was red and it is not
Summer was red and it is not
Summer was red and it is not
Summer was red and it is not
Summer is red ...