Текст песни ex0rcist - Мрак

tomorrow was already not dead, not killed
there are hundreds of numbers on my mobile
but I’m calling three: mother, father. well, and perhaps all

I would shake hands with every left bitch
but my manners do not approve of knocks
somewhere to the left, higher than your soul
and a hundred below this level of hell

I will understand when it is emptiness
the name is really not worth the fuck
clogged with paint deeper than your skin
what I have lived up to, smoke will dry my face

later (well yes) later it will be cool
I envy the kids, if only they play
and in bills the weight is larger than these numbers
they don’t care where to pour, the ruble or the hryvnia

I’m not recognized as the best, a prism will illuminate me
stigma etched through red eyes
it's style, mom, and life fucks hard
i send stylish fuck lovingly.