Текст песни Эни N. - Хронически

I'm going to a personal collection
Other people's mistakes, the achievements of a few.
Probably, them I'm not so different.
My voice slurred as well as legs.

All these are my immoral principles -
Pressure from above, the heat stress.
Do not hide behind them, with the gloomy faces.
For here we do not understand, not the environment.

Hand does not touch, do not beg indulgence.
Too much distance we have.
And eight hours repite pointless
Swirling phrases humbly presented.

City without the sun. With rain and smog.
The pools are scattered his glare.
Where as ghostly and lonely
Happiness is such a stubborn bastard.

These six months are chronically sick,
With interruptions, often quite nedolechenyy.
Rooting is not love, hate, almost.
I would be in the fall, noted that thee