Текст песни скептический - twentyfour or fine day to die

Time sends troubles through import mail
As long as the streets suggest that everyone here is ruined
Cigarette burns on a fake shell
And in the sketchbook there are only pictures where the little soul is locked
To my brokenness I sneeze and vomit
After all, the serpentaria does not care when everything is erased into powder
And then they sniff from the thighs of the eatery whore
Amid bruises and dents, I send greetings to packets of curses
And I'm like Niklas here, really, baby you're used to
I have so much gunpowder that I explode like the Taliban
Diphenhydramine combined with beer for a good session
I know you will thank me - this youth was not in vain
Swallows in carcasses really want to go out
Help them hysteria like porn heroines
Like flowers of blood and flesh on a shabby altar
On vhs I write suckers for gallery screens

At twenty-four, I am nobody and there is no way to call me
And slippery as a herring on holiday tables
At twenty-four, I wear arrhythmia like a plush bear
Walking my way from cradle to shaved vagina
With the prospect of living for forty thousand for two
And kind of young, but mentally like a fucking old man
Fate laughs, says: "forgive the sloppy fool"
Here's my gift in the form of a cherry "sakura"