Текст песни meanna - терпит разрыв

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discontinuity
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Forests in the fields
and holiday weekends

House on the hill windswept from all sides
white, now entirely brownish stone,
spacious meeting rooms where certain
could fit to the tribe or the whole army

are empty. maid lives in a separate utility room
the house is only one woman
lean, middle-aged
He refuses a dinner party
He refuses to shake hands
everywhere overlooking this
if during the time of Louis XIV
arranging furniture and stuck candles
and only one woman.

on the walls portraits of ancestors
white starched collars
making them look like the head
round candy.
censors much, they permeate
room views
like the rays of searchlights

the air smells musty dampness
which tightens the lungs

hostess spends near the fireplace in a chair and night and day
or near a window
and when not sleeping she walks through the castle
in a long shirt like a ghost

morning fog meter
harboring the grass
History is silent and in the evening
and shine and poverty

Consumed by people like her that every minute,
that every day goes after her heels,
dragging her as sex dress
and does not want to lag behind,
It clings to each new addition to each new word,
and if that is not the case,
simply travel along the floor
as cold air, white clouds

I'm going to think globally
I lie down in a book
I penetrate into the idea
But who today engulf
But who will ease my suffering
in the evening
It takes other people's affairs

take cover behind the wave
honorable among the dead will choose something your
like a sponge held wet table
they gather will carry sadness
a couple of hours
zakuyut in jail
Surgut put print
muzzle

nature threatened to poison her life
swung behind the shutters unruly branches
cold windy
silly heart-rending
You, too, you just have too!

moon for enthusiastic
one for all
pursues and looks
cold and equally
look like fools
I would have thrown it
indifferent, repulsive

She forgets the summer warmth and greenery,
Nature still circling her head,
but especially in the fall and winter ...
... especially in the winter with its omnipresent snow
of which hit not get out
both from the hospital under heavy blankets
the nature of the days immediately lost

and the first sun faded, napravdopodobnoe
accurately cut from a thin colored paper
 all the time in his new tragedy
and his rejection
book hero, he gets going closer to the night
when the eyes are in fires
thoughts and discontinuity ...

-

is coming to an end. residents piled
house for rent
but it does not give the spirit
at the three old women
This thought is kept in a dark closet
all wrong
Fear comes closer
allowing himself to consider
and happy in the heat death of the scattering
in a given rhythm
He said to me:

one day I'll wake up in the waist-deep in the snow
without food, without heat, without clothes
without a little bit of hope
one day I'll wake up in the Bank of jam
in matryoshka
in the house that Jack built unknown to me

as his favorite victim.

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