Текст песни Брось в дождь - квартирник в Проводах 3 февраля 2013

On my desk butts,
At my table assholes,
Under my desk poured port.

The door was not locked and should not be
Come on, come on here. We will be glad.
On the street the rain that day.

With whom was he loved, with whom you drank.
Did you fuck up or scored,
When a piece of you hanging on the left side.

What shouts rumor? Not about you it?
What toil snow in your bed
And in your eyes around you some coffins?

A hundred thousand steps from this cottage,
Where it rests in the crosses of white gowns
The withered hand of distorting mirrors, there is a shadow.

It holds the road. Where there heard
How are rejoices. HARI KRISHNA
We dance while you are alive to it, perhaps daily.