Текст песни Санта - телефонный голос

Telephone voice, a strange smell -
          G A
Stationary, carbon.
Under hollow coat has thrown a bottle,
Passport rumpled - duplicitous.
On the roads of wheelchair travels
Trying to get
Until the borders of beautiful Danish fairy tales -
Ugly, drunk and disgusting ...
 
            C Am
But, man, put a minute hand!
                           With Em
There is nothing to catch! Ltd…
                             G A
There is nothing to catch ... Ohh ...
 
You have one foot in my ditch.
We both are entitled to
A stone's throw from the past lie ...
But if you want, we will be able to stay,
To inhaling the aroma of illusions
And station contusions,
Sail on rotting trunks,
Dreaming of distant lands ...
 
But, man, put a minute hand!
There is nothing to catch!
 
But you tell me about a past life,
Above God hanging.
A night I'll get out of a suitcase,
The smoke lay down, lay down wearily.
Over the road wheelchair travels
A cloud of gray wander ... Tired!
You're sticking your finger into the sky will
Broadcast me a miracle ...
 
But, man, put a minute hand!
There is nothing to catch!