Текст песни dead rave - Температура Твоей Комнаты

/ Why are you so sure that living is great? /
Why are you so sure that living is great?
In the closed corridors, under the degree of the room.
People with boxes on their shoulders stole youth in the vestibules of trains.
I was stolen into someone else's bed and whispered: "suffer."
The manifestation of love in this closed loop equals the rate of change in the flow of pain
through the surface of the skin, and too low a temperature in my room will knock books off the shelves to the floor, the batteries will burst, everything will be filled with cold water, and I will never be alive again.
In the second-class carriages, looking into the eyes of the interlocutor, the wind emitted piercing screams through the holes in my windows.
It's so cold in here.
People in spacesuits with black eyes are sucking the air out of the room.
In a vacuum, my space moved into your consciousness to find salvation.
Don't let me dry on your blade on Sunday with circulatory pulses.
From unwillingness to get up early, it is better not to go to bed at all, having smoked cigarettes without a filter
choked on the smoke in the room.
The vents in your dormitory are clamped in teski.
I'd jump on my way back from the bus
Tomorrow I won't be able to reach her again: my legs are broken, I'm cold.
The temperature of your room is like the refrigerators in the grocery, like the gaze of a security guard at the exit, and you are ready to run, but you took too much on yourself.
Fall.
You will never get up.