Текст песни пелымский - lubov1

I had a dream today
like a soloist
not painfully familiar
Odessa team
in a blanket of snow
covered houses
kissed my T
slowing down the foxtrot
that hoarsely wheezed
from the columns of their bedroom.

he muttered insistently
they say love is that
what, hike, happened
that, for a long time.
his hands were trembling
a hundred from a hundred,
the TV was breaking
to cry, then to howl,
freeways outside the windows
they sounded the alarm.

that day I left
exactly at nine
since morning.
snow threw masterfully
me inside.
through and through reflections
clogged minibus.
People were whining, screaming.
I smoked calmly.
Monte Carlo.
one by one.
as before.
as always.

I have not seen you like that.

people are quietly changing.
sites.
quarters.
the door.
I have to believe
that cold is a measure
any changes.
here you have it right along Voltaire
among ragged walls
beautiful requires docks
she had better say to the end.
so the January sun dazzles
into the eastern window openings
abandoned pharmacies today.
your transitions to running
relationship between two states
we are like water and snow
fight on the roofs of buildings
in which a person lives.
time for dumb lateness.
time of blind interference.

we are children of corrupt morals.
divorced parents
and drawbridges.
our frames are separate bedrooms
and no poems
about love.
we are young is an error.
let them think so
if needed.
may our childhood be with you
diverges from someone there
a look
on the condition of all
unresolved issues
in this world.
I hear a loud laugh
child in an empty apartment.

it's weekdays. cold meeting.
you throw words with buckshot
this time is so fleeting
or stretches pastila?

this name is not the best way out
I-person a la "on a whim"
you don’t tear my chest muscles
this is the essence of drawbridges.

these are views. again on departure
I’m a master of broken styles,
kilometers or miles
hit the dishes on the little things.

I erased my torn sneakers.

even barefoot, and then I’ll come ..
the memory of a white-hazy plaid
falls into the eyes.

I then danced with your fingers on your wrists
waltz of the rhythm of new times and air currents /
sorry i'm missing a dozen fingers now
to feel your electric current in the outlet, but

faith is frazzled with canvas by drunken artists.
I was flat on a dish of the Privokzalny courtyards
so that what you’re looking for is often unnecessary,
I am left alone in this post through the looking glass of the city.