Текст песни скептический - chardonnay

I do not answer calls, then it's time to get used to
In this anthill, a desire to disappear
The retina is burning out, in the sky only an insecuring symbol
Who wants you to read as a book
Tired of the madness of Wyoming
Similarities of people, advertising audiocotters
BDSM and Angels dressed in more
For the abandoned word, silent copies
Bold piece of meat in a stente dress
Such realities, hello to you Schwankmayer
Pokhatnaya soul scraps braided
City is full of fools and not heroes "Marvel"
Inside me suffering Agnia
And time with depth seeds give wrinkles and depressions
Watch dreams Potted "Carpathy"
In wine, they are drowning as kittens Girl-apathy
I send her his heart with cargo "200"
More and don't want to at least on the wall
As if a boxing bag, comfortable target
That after use will be a meal for mice
And my fate goes from me tired
Everything is illusory, I'm kidding like Ivan Mahalov
This is Vlad Damn, well, hello my city
Impregnated with cheap alcohol and menthol

And we are still one-dimensional, one-sided
Time sculpts oncology to the tip of the needle
Words of healers in hospital coupon
There are no stones for a long time ago and foam blocks
But not to break them with a single hammer, not easy
And before the end of the centuries
Your girlfriend becomes a glass of "Chardonna"
And you no one now

Follow the fate as the LED Barrett under the acid
In full fuss and prepared a cartridge
The gods turned into methadone and DXM shot down
Handle pets native and flew into orbit
Ice emptiness hearts, cold climate
Under -30, we are killed animals
And gradually the epicenter of pain
Concluding the liteness of the shells in a black triangle
On serious sicks or in joke
Cheria Budnichny Moute Like Coins Greedy Leprechaun
I increase the level of noise with body temperature
To die in the city of Narikov and stupid girls
Jelly under the legs of autumn leaves and dirt
I'm trying to get through to love but no connection
Pixel sky is illuminated by interference
And this fall fall as a mustache comedy
From the nineties offscreen laugh of the Sitkomov
This everyday will come to coma
And your room where the world is divided into zero
Porcelain dolls silently occupied by their game
Once ... Time clothes slightly loop
Two ... puts your head on your hook
Three ... and gradually muddle
And here and 7.00. Good morning