Текст песни вБЕНЗИНЕестьОБЛАКА - возьми это

how sad life must be for the musicians of the group take that
aging and useless, forty-odd years
balding and wrinkled boys,
stand and cry by the huge bath,
choosing the right jar from the battery of funds,
who promised to return them youth and elasticity.
by the morning the guest should drive up,
you need to stop crying and start drinking.
sluggishly reacting to running out of money in the account
Erich Fromm these days are not in high esteem
enough money for a couple more liters of liquor,
to feel like a hero of decadence
Miles Davis and all Coyle's albums fill the room
first toast to drink to armstrong lance's health
I could have bought an expensive suit with this money
or wash your head and cut your hair in the end
but no, fill the hold to capacity with rum
wash away the sins of mothers and the pride of fathers with alcohol
in old age to create goodbye to the Internet thread,
fix the portrait of Garth Marenga in front of the monitor
burn the guy fawkes mask, calabash and warm plaid blanket.
under the cutting and squealing autotune of the newfangled crank-core.
probably no one will notice the calendar in the dust
you were guilty at the very beginning
and life is just a pay, no smiles, no handshakes
disobedience of reason will be severely punished
alcohol cigarettes and endless serials
what if the memory is forever tied to the dropbox
there is little room in the head for memories of a lifetime
the irrepressible fear of irrationality drives into the tile floor,
where to find New Year's trips and other psychobanalities in the subcortex
legs give way, pulse quickens, dissociation of image and hearing
The legion is repeating to you with a loud voice: "NO POH!"
under the tsunami of which islands of any specifics will disappear and be forgotten
And now all your mentions in the Internet have sunk into the water