Текст песни И.Скворцов - русский рок

All the songs of the Songs,
Poems Read,
Melodies are played,
Drinks all drinks.
We are many summer
We go nailed,
Many we
Lead killed.

No books here,
No paintings,
No more letters.
Here each one
Laying carries
Skull of emptiness.
All that can not
With him for a long time on you.

Russian Rock is dead
Slept the child.
In a sorrowful family
Thick races.

Not a reason to think
Alien grief.
Conscience is silent
Mind to her either.
Sounds around
all quieter and gloover
Sleepy people
Coffee carcasses.

Dance Utyakh
Rules here ball.
Angedonia
Who is tired.
Like a little prince
whisked off boredom
two eight two
Radical tricks.

Young prophet
Bocked again.
Time to love
did not come, but for now
Bells crack
from silence.
Herd down
It goes to the scream.

There are no winners in this country
Devils are danced by the ruins of the monastery.
There are no winners in this country
Deeds dance ...