Текст песни costansin - Почти

I almost swear by the wind
red moon bright,
candle
I will burn it down.

Asphalt, eaten into the rot of resurrected shrines,
silent, holding my shadow with quiet disdain.
Cuts hearing
shop "Good prices".

Press down, give malice
Shoot into the sea.
A candle - a yellow fool -
I will burn to a loud whirlpool.

The cardboard tastes Soviet.
The plant is on fire for children.
Skiing in uncomfortable cafes
where are all their
between themselves,
only you are in your news.

Even September.
Someone's cigarette in the ground.
Fresh
rings on the backs,
and there is a glass unit in each eye.
They'll all burn by
mountain summer.

Almost everyone has their own somewhere
There are no seats,
take properties into their own with experience.

Watch the dawn pass by
Understand: I'm just an illusion.
Sour books about someone else's happiness.
Happiness...

Ripe stones are shaking from the rain ...