Текст песни Jam - Снисхождение высших

Indulgence higher

The most fun - is not a game
Black Painted white wall
On the sidelines of the two arrows
In Hell, in Nothingness
Someone might say - the little things
But to each his own

There is little choice - to become, or to leave,
Here believe stupidity games with people
There is a prologue written,
And then there is,
Reaching for thoughts
To each his own

Who believes gold, who lit the fire,
Whose soul stabbed true blood
Who will write the spell - the fragile glass,
Who was unnecessary
To each his own

Ragged figures tears will not erase,
And at dawn with madness just will not leave
Because folded,
Inscribed, and all
If not impossible,
To each his own

Serving a completely old sins
Each Communion - blood, like poetry
And flies crucified life on the edge,
Damn, klyatyh
To each his own

Dreams and daring from dusk to ...
Before dawn vile
To each his own