Текст песни Тот Самый - Космос нас любит

See the red ball over the horizon?
When it goes out, we'll die and I'm not scary.
We all live here as in the picture of the infantile creator
And nothing if he repainted, the point ...
With black on white and back

I missed, though. Tokov
And so sought me the voice of reason
That I can't take myself
Will give words .. yes weak
I missed yes everything is so
Even at that time
When you could of the poor flies
Infinitely inflave elephant
I missed, went crazy
Squeezing, cigarette filter
Ledges-Falanga
We stand breathing poison
Thoughts whores to drive them

See the red ball over the horizon?
If not, then Beethoven fucked us lunar sonata.
Do you remember in childhood, we dreamed of everything to become astronauts? Astronomers?
I became the author.
Mostly shit.
And so I boiled in almost the reflexes depressed
Stopped.
As the most beautiful contraception in the world
And pasture.
Adult life is practical
The bustle, bustle.
And the world of the terrytite residues of romantic structures
As a prostitute which is printed Price
In which the color is just a wavelength
For retina eye
Love is hormones dance waltz in your bone and meat bag
And when we look at burning pits in gladies
Endless waters, and everything converts meaning
It's just the sky, it's just stars
It's just we and you
Look:
See the red ball over the horizon?
When it goes out then we will die
And I'm not scary
We all live here as in the picture of the infantile creator
And nothing if he repainted, the point ...
With black on white and back
Clothes on the floor!
Blouse Buttons Spread under Creek
"You're married!" "What do you need?!"
Space Creator **** spread his legs
And began to fuck rude!
Moans at the other end of the universe
Vibrations on macro-space
And millions of degrees Celsius
Among which, among whom ..
Look:
See the red ball over the horizon?
When it goes out, we'll die and I'm not scary.
We all live here as in the picture of the infantile creator
And nothing if he repainted
See the red ball over the horizon?
When it goes out, we'll die and I'm not scary.
We all live here as in the picture of the infantile creator
And nothing if he repainted ...