Текст песни Сток - Сырой дурдом

the cold wind of the street, whispering tratuary
who gave the glory
who is short

but then everyone got
it does not matter - up to one hundred growth
or bread and old age

porches adopt now more guests
coffins are now seeing more bones
mothers against losses freezes bed
Flight everyone here is pulling stranded

the usual brilliancy water boarded ice
couples and swarms of getting closer to the mouth kontachat
and it remains one
old maple, decorating tone
crude madhouse

somebody dose or locomotive
decide any question
but the body has not been identified
it is like a thick metallic tros-
strong, but also an oxidizing agent is created for him

things like affection
people love fairy tale
by means love each other to disperse the melancholy

It is all according to plan
because failure
at the bottom, but stop at one

Daily filling his eyes with smoke
leaving far away, where no house
I communicate with them, eat the world
to write the next volume

and again he - this tone sluggish
and again he - this drunken rum
and again he - this gray maple
and again he - the raw madhouse