Текст песни Руру, найтивыход - помехи

around banality
and wherever thoughts go.
my minute stereo letters
they won’t reach you anymore
I will not find the former here
with a broad smile, pulling his hands up, not to the bottom.
and teach me to rejoice in the new day
don't open your eyes in the middle of the night
and do not run to the desk.
swimming, hanging with the flow of fish
and i will never become a bird
except in the cage.
rain does not scare
the snow falling from the roof does not scare.
and feelings have become redundant
having lost the meaning I washed the smile off my face
I think I died a long time ago,
but I remember the taste of those same cherries from childhood
where to run away.
and nowhere to go
days of loneliness
and not counting dead nights
behind the back behind.
felting lines in the mud of the past
but it went all
hello loneliness
long live boring days
cry for stupid love together
louder because we are alone
refuse to step over the thresholds of the house
the past grabs at the back and pulls into the room again
warm yourself with online accounts. painfully we know
lethal doses from simple photo albums
waiting for happiness ready

cities without departures.
only within themselves are compressed.
and the veins of the vein roads narrow
as before, only
according to your look, it’s sad.
although I know you can be smiling with everyone
without saying a word to me
and in sorrow saying
that everything is fine
discharge only at home
but even there the walls seem to be crushing.
axiom of sadness in rewritten
in a new way verses within
crushing painfully
and out of place lying eyes.
look like people, they are not alien
they are all happy and smiling as before.
and even without feigned falsity
I don’t remember only when
everything was fine.
took all the old drawings from
albums
shoveled his grievances
again and within yourself.
outside the walls of the porches
she languishes in the corners
four-walled rooms,
without compromising on the neighbors,
just pain, and no more.
gloves changing everything like people
cold, smoky faces
on which we searched for everything native.
memories burn tons of joy, but we are all equally divided.
fake words fly
from false lips for a morning latte,
then in you fake
finds a way out of his throat
expecting along the corridors
empty mondays
and still empty weekdays
the kettle is boiling in the kitchen
simply yes empty-handed.
in seven-breaker breakdowns,
their strands of electrical circuits
other people's plans will be revealed.
and again here are the native intercoms,
love to scream in vain
straining throat, which then
only pouring honey can
cure
and having lain for three weeks at home.

empty word all these verses
without one:
they need to be heard by someone,
and I revel in the bitterness of alcohol
laying across the windowsill across
keeping your breath even and quieter.
I will bypass the dangers outside
just looking at the bellows.
I are those words that you never
you won’t say it out loud.
well now
the walls echo in both directions
there are sheets in the hands, and interference in the head.