Текст песни макулатура - Лимб

sailors in Kronstadt smoke their last tobacco before being shot
and their hairs are like rags of a flag: red with blood and black, as in the reflection of the sea your eyes
I see them when I go into a bayonet attack
if you are a poet, it is better to be cocky and mediocre
smash their cafes and blow smoke in their faces
I will be caught in bed with two literary ladies
you sleep somewhere while we load our pistols with lead
it's good to live under the bridge, during the second republic
Louis Napoleon is a goof, but there is a knife and wine
from the rain and the crowd, I protect myself with an opium pipe
before the last step I see your hands - they are filling more
to enter the ring of underground fights for food under Letova
share half a bowl with the yard dog
the economic crisis turns into the end of the world
I want to watch him with you through the window
ministers and deputies hide in garbage cans
security officers are jumping from windows. screeching like bitches coolies on cayenne
I shoot falling bodies with a slingshot
You are in a new dress leading a crowd of anarchists to the Kremlin
remember me as if all this was not a salon joke
when there is not enough blood for alcohol and you confuse your shoe with a cat litter in the hallway
your eyes are reflected in every sea
every other life i live before bed

remember me as if all this was not a salon joke
if this is still possible in your universe
on the other side of the mirror, anxious retreat after a hair dryer
in the stuffy arms of a cowardly man who took you prisoner
two more pills to get to your bed
as a reminder of myself, I touch thousands of thin strings
wake you up with an imperceptible touch, until the moment
until my voice has run out of sound
pulling the broken threads. looking for a bunch of lost keys from many cameras,
rooms, hoping to find you there
in the plots of books
inscriptions on cans of canned vegetables
every letter. every beat. elusive beauty
win back my devotion to the instinct of self-preservation
memory is my best friend and common sense is the enemy
at each new level of sleep, the ratio of our time changes
I have been fighting in an empty ruined city for years
the body is thrown on the sandy shore at your feet,
and you are the same as yesterday, but I am a barely perceptible swing of the wind
I'm trying to say something tangled in your hair
long-awaited return after traveling to other planets
in the corner, as under a rope in the ring, I am awakened
like in a puddle of sweat I slept without taking off my boots and jacket
the morning will begin if I let myself hope again
how to touch the pads of your fingers to the keyboard