Текст песни Страмослябы - Утюг в багровых штанах

(Music - Prince Toshnotvorets text - Ban Eldarion)
Arthur Conan Doyle has to the atrocities described below, absolutely nothing!
The smell of rotting gently stirs,
Sweet-blevotny lump rises to the Adam's apple.
In a pool of blood fly sits
And thoughtfully tabs decay with proboscis scrapes.
Tranquil rotting manure
Rassteklas silver on the floor,
The glare of the sun playing on the mucus,
And it stirs something in the corner.
In the morning light sweet smoke
Timidly rises above the pile of charred bones.
The skin as a cotton hanging on hooks,
From the abundance of blood I do not know when tarnished.
Tranquil rotting manure
Because someone's stomach flows.
He's probably still breathing,
Although maybe it is.
At the piano luxury lady
Excellently it plays,
And yellow mouth unnoticed
Elegantly dripping saliva.
Thin fingers struck a chord,
And nails fell to the floor like yellow flakes.
The languid smile cracked mouth,
And fangs tearing his lip like a sharp spear!