Текст песни пульсаnet - один. точка. восемь.

Still have not had time to weep April drippings,
I look at you, and you're eighteen.
Night and day, an extract from the medical records of ill health condition.
Blood no longer warms palms sticky soap is not washed away from the skin slides.
Through the cold from all cracks,
but from every word.
You do not hurry back home, you have long been not at home,
roof over their heads; in the head in an ocean of apathy heels do not reach the bottom.
And you eighteen, seemingly an eternity ahead of haze,
dreams and prospects.
And friends shoals of shapeless take off from the balcony railing;
I flew to them, but not the strength to resist the teeth of the air.
Someone again talk about what it is, when it is better sooner,
than later.
And you eighteen.
One. Dot. Eight.
Drown himself in the mineral.
All sacred thoughts turn to suicide.

do
discount
in the fall.