Текст песни сенсорныйголод - франция

Your perfume takes me to the streets of France
From our factory-smoked Mukhosransk
But waking up not in Paris but at our station
We scrape our feet, hiding the sick heads in a shell.

I grow into a chair and put on a tie loop
Your shoulders are already waiting for the legs of the underdeveloped stepsons
I dream that hordes of intelligent machines will capture us
They will exterminate everyone for their feelings, considering it a system error

My eternal tomorrow, two bottles and sleep without sleepwalking
Your France fits in two hundred and fifty milliliters
This bed weaves in tentacles passionate slimy
Allowing us to be called at least close in the morning

Love drowned in me in cheap alcohol
And I will knock everything out of me with this lousy longing
You go into the wrong hands that probably turned out to be warmer
From France, only Hugo - the last day of a condemned to death

Eiffel tower without you again just a power line
And I don’t have enough words to talk about how loser I am
This bed is like a place next to Edith Piaf in Pere Lachaise
After all, your perfume eventually transferred me to the cemetery.