Текст песни Екатерина Болдырева - Я хрупкий маленький урод

I freak out a little fragile, cynical and tender
All my pure meanness as a reputation for being a game.
God did not invent any of these faces or masks, but
She - a big snowdrift good, and I pity her. Occasionally

And you want to drink from the dark sort of pity,
And after all the empty pity love to the bottom.
She laughs, everything for her childish pranks.
It is clinically dumb and ugly law. She

In the kitchen, mother, love child, in bed whore,
In this paper the ox in trouble shoulder in art phenomenon.
And I - I howl at the moon until it falls.
God did not come up with for such a cozy time

I flounder about those damn where and, most importantly, how the hell those.
Fishing nirvana of goals scored in its gates,
Change all her gifts for vodka and a couple of fights,
It - the sun is more and more that zoryushka.

I am a terrorist, she's my blind hostage
I'm a fallen angel Behemoth, she sage Con Fu Zi
Ineptly put brush nature-artist.
But it is she - my game, but I still - her sister,
Such are the twins ...

I'm ravenous little monster patched with skin,
With dashing head, sick soul, unfeminine force.
Bleschit as a brooch, savor lie bullet butts.
She forgives, and while we love and miluyut