Текст песни Песочные Люди - Боль Моя

My pain , my share
Whose Colts sent to the head?
Holili wrong , or nurtured .
Then outline the chalk obuyut in white .

Festival not zasyhaya pack
Sundresses in the edge of paradise
Ryskov in search of the essence
With close to one way
Tear network , there is no fear
Rubik cube - cuts , tear off his shirt
Come on ! On gasps , nahavayut and cry in front of plahayu
Build salted plots,
Zamozolili eyes with tears.
Calm down ! Do not pull the thread
Do not want to sever the wick
On edge flags , torches
On the flank of angels in a brazen with the naked truth
Give freedom , those who turn up in front of the muzzle
Barking evil retreating to the edge
Our roofs that are higher
For the birds closer! same plant
Yes, sin . And not red
Passengers with greased skis
Napyzhennye , who grew up on the roads
And on rozhah burnt wrinkles
Podsozhgli we do not put out
In a foam soap box in the dust
Rummaged from the tops of the rocks and up
Strutted there is strength
And insomnia did not leave calm.
Meeting face -to-face
Large portions of fried by the sun
Not feeling the soil , not seeing the coast of
Whose path is shorter - believed without words
It is necessary to keep pace with , and not to rush
Late gold metal if it is oxidized
Who cares without risk
And who is a threat to his temple smiling ...

My pain , my share
Whose Colts sent to the head?
Holili wrong , or nurtured .
Then outline the chalk obuyut in white .