Текст песни aperow - ничего больше

Soul tired angels fallen
Probably, maggots are swarming in my heart
will become flies and arrange a round dance to Kadysheva songs
Forgive all the people with you parted
turn his head or look into the eyes
We are going through mercury
random names Rubbed iron rod
How to not turn your heart out
DELED PRODEMENT, I died here
Three minutes of the track and my murmur words
Peter considers the catch
the main thing is to survive, until every little man inside is dead
But this gunpowder is like a buffoon
Clowns on their faces pull their leash
Birds of birds take off south and pulls the jamb through the threshold
We can’t learn this lesson
And you are not Vanga or the Prophet
I only write to you in the last letter dozens of stupid useless lines
Bullet conductor
Through the barrel
And the finger stands on the trigger
I could not
I could not
Nothing more

I close my eyes
People touch me with bags in the route clogged
Blue hands
I'm dead
This is understandable and obvious
exhausted mine without ore and words
comes to cry with a guess
In the pillow
There will be no those who want to listen to me
listen
knock out
to find
And I will fall asleep
with you
In double coffin
Autumn is tearing from above with lactating dowels of pigeons gopniks

Throw my bloody heart with your smells and pupils-colleagues
Samara inside me fucks my fingers my focus
life screen with emotions expressed in signs
broken rhymes and creatures broken
Lips cracked in three places and bottles of my love remained hollow

Petrograd takes away dear and their red heads
And misfortune will only subside antidepressants and or injections

Listen to your heart, go to university and school
be a good boy and scrape the ceiling with crowns
But why is it so painful
And you are a mechanic, and people are robots
go by the handle with hatred for their work
covered with duchess

met an old acquaintance at the exit from the shelter for crazy
He is a symbol of what became past, like the summer, knocked out in his arms and legs bloodied from new tattoos
The old child was jaming his lips asking for alienation silhouettes

We remained poets
in a pumpkin -like carriage
On the maps, locks are marked in which princesses, as the truth, are waiting for not dressed
Autumn exhausts and sucks

I expect in silence
Next to empty intercity ticket offices
You will not be happy with a cardboard existence in the way between castes of strata classes
cut off the line of life of a pocket pastor
And cry

Nothing more