Текст песни Наталья Чердак - Ваш поэт распят

I think this is not the most enjoyable game:
laugh or roar to the public
30-ty people.
That, my lady, caviar?
You are confused.
Hear rumbling laugh?
It's like a fingernail on a blackboard or glass.
Minutes
measured here your glory.
She's poison ...
Dripping from the lips and the snake to toe.
Who is there? The poet?
Your poet crucified.
The audience gathered, people waiting for the submission;
Preparing, drinking glasses clinking of wine.
What? My opinion? Do not you care?

Leaving. A train ticket to the capital.
Train hums and takes off.
Familiar, falsely good person ...
Spit out the window, I'm the bride.

Stay on the dark island,
flaming bird.
You are no longer the chicks, and most adults
Collect talent grains,
I wish you good-bye not sleep.
Attic (c)