Текст песни Мачеты - Курить на балконе

from the central pharmacy to the hospital beds on the highway called fate,
the empty windows of empty people from empty time in the middle of the week from a trifle to the crowded boxes of entrances and up to the gray-stop on the pavement of stone or plastic joy worse coins thrown to the bottom of the river Cabo or wick which set fire not cool lighthouse and dunes have until February rereading the soul of Gogol by slabs of concrete and to the square blocks on the corners and bends to open windows on blue stamps to autographs and nenadumanno but all in the same hole in the ice lampposts like guards from five to nine on weekdays and weekends burns shadows on the black pavement is only one step on the living up to the memoir on tracks straight into the thicket so yes that would be back not to come back if the case in the habit - tear off and throw no one needs a seam of white thread from a deep coma before pulse loss of their only two bottles that would not wake up tomorrow burns on skin or worse, June to June to be hoarse

successful ride x5 and Escalade other smoking on the balconies do not believe that there is something in buses other than old-age and crush good or bad it is - to be one I can not tell you until the end of anything other regulations other us more all drunken confession on the outskirts of the town we are from childhood were all injured people from the screen rubbing that we should be different but we all eleven tried to smoke people commune are still living in the past, when there is nothing but holes from the shackles open, carefully, not much slam I have not departed yet from April flakes threw the half-smoked cigarette butts in puddle and writing in the hope that I will need a laugh and almost cry from the words but vampires do not need the sun they need blood forget me and delete all the photos of Russ in everyday life and in urban accidents twenty-second winter will be good, I said but he I did not look at these two men apples anyway outside shiny, but rotten inside October carries me like the river in October cold with old hands call and say that this life is worthless cuts on her wrists cuts to livers other people at Polaroid cards of other people do not put but those crowds are bleak chew me and what good is not better than nothing changing ...
 
I realized that did not play in that game because the game was something in that to understand who I already have ...