Текст песни Сплин - Храм

Temple

I am writing you from the edges cloudy
Where rain filled the city to the brim
Water, in which everything is reflected
And things are not turning into wine

I am writing you from the northern latitudes
Live fish are deader sprat
There pools - one-third water and two - petrol
There is not always kontachit sim card

I am writing you from the southern shores
Where is closely from the gods on Mount Olympus
Where beaches are deserted in October
Where everything reminds you of

I am writing you from the monasteries
In which there are no windows or doors
There is nothing, and to be honest
What is not and the monastery

I am writing to you and looking at the sunset
Like the man who gave his life for so
Look, rushing into a fever or chills
As it falls to the ground skyscraper

I am writing you on top of brick walls
I write in the Novgorod birch bark
So write on scraps, on scraps
Blindly, without glasses and glasses that

I write to you, I'm flying home
As soon parting off
I write, as long as the red traffic light
I write until the end of iPhone

All items will turn into trash
No one remembers who built the temple
Such a life - no sugar and silk
You remember only one who set fire to the temple

P.S. I write to you, I write!
Hello to you ! You - and your child!
For a long time to build the temple and burn for a moment
Only can the one who has erected the temple