Текст песни Саша Сон - Под ногами идущего

time pokes a knife in the back, drags by the collar to the exit - have time
not to become someone's bait in the abyss of mistakes, their screens and distorting mirrors
who is greedy for the truth, gentlemen? Are we all going to be made fools here?
what will be the last straw? the striking of the clock is not an equal battle

someone spilled bread crumbs and now the route has been created
fingers who did not know the thorns of roses do not know the stars
in drafts for a hundred letters, all to the address "space"
coins stand on edge, bones hang on the edges

we fall asleep knowing that we will be woken up again
and not at all on an electric chair, but an office chair
we are executed, but better for colds
or end with suicide all by dying of boredom

all the lanterns are extinguished in other people's souls and
live every day like the last
as if we know what we want, we add to the estimates
to buy in "a thousand little things"

few people, even fewer aspects of their
plots of lives are looped in
may those who are devotees not become devotees
let every traveler find a place to sleep

time pokes a knife in the back, drags by the collar to the exit - have time
not to become someone's bait in the abyss of mistakes, their screens and distorting mirrors
you can wear off the soles of sneakers in a moment, but the places around are also familiar
where only a new turn of the wheel appeared under the feet of those walking