Текст песни Tanker - Мысли

This is my town This is my new york
and the fact that it is a thousand times less, fuck
here just so no one gets
if not then popadёsh uydёsch
an illusion of happiness among the empty houses
it is the main wealth of the city of dreams
clear the land of the gods cemetery
a shortage of blood and cutting heads
Lift up your eyes and look to the bottom
all the way to the light for a long time already closed
Calculate how much rain has passed
the gods are angry and we are all still
And fuck gone !!!
that was passed
Time to throw out the old movie film
and just now I walked crackdown
Flying careful, do not fall in the shit

I can not make my thoughts on quieter
We tried to even describe Pushkin
These thoughts that lurk in the dark roof
We take off and write about it
And read you hear me brother
Chitat of anything is too much
But the line of fire in the minds of the blue breathe
I and the boys on the sion of

all just waiting for the rains sunsets
Among the salt bag is a piece of jelly
Cool Only when a grenade in his hand
the bodies will not reach the people in white coats

understand the dark for no wages
zakazhesh not, you will be killed afitsantom
And that would be your brother
In just such a life of alignment of supply with cancer

I can not make my thoughts on quieter
We tried to even describe Pushkin
These thoughts that lurk in the dark roof
We take off and write about it
And read you hear me brother
Chitat of anything is too much
But the line of fire in the minds of the blue breathe
I and the boys on the sion of

Track mozgoёbstvo, razest your brain
the virus takes one comes with the crowd
And how in the world can be a
just turn off the lights and close the curtains
get used to the darkness of my dumb threads
we fly away, beyond the solar system
and let the sky reflected in a puddle
Sun dried, killing life, it is for the better

order in charges pm mongrels
Two cotton for one who cooks porridge
Of course this can be 'brother podkashlit
especially if it also soot breathes
Yes, all our respect ...
light farther to the bottom, we do not zalyazhem
Rocket charged and ready for launch
Blow ... heal ... housings

I can not make my thoughts on quieter
We tried to even describe Pushkin
These thoughts that lurk in the dark roof
We take off and write about it
And read you hear me brother
Chitat of anything is too much
But the line of fire in the minds of the blue breathe
I and the boys on the sion of