Текст песни Поэт без усов - Извините, но мест больше нет.

Now turn around and go out
You are out of place at all
Well, let's burst into tears, whiner
stutters, swallowing air
not a hero, but I would like to be him
will you stand deprived
with the world hypochondriac vyazhesh events
and without them you are basically toe
It hurts, right? already under the breast colitis
it was good to be blind
you his whole life building a house
from you there will be dust
moth-eaten velvet heart
rotten oak in the garden of the dead
Children fed with love
desire to burn in hell
every day the previous echoes
sometimes I think I wish I
to share with someone joy and sorrow
Only all satellites on the moon
and if you are sick there rveshsya
but these do not take into astronauts
the ax at the root of the tree chopping
in the sense of leaving the ground
Tomorrow you wake up in the same bed
on the pillow wet with tears
you is not the one
you again to those
you are in the artificial dreams
All knives are dull as an evil
mockingly torn rope
and the window does not let charm
grinning holding ukromkim
you can not find a place
and never could
Everybody likes to go back to childhood
or just pull the trigger
We remember his mother baked a cake
and now it seems insipid
you are silent
visco
the door bell
open the
at the entrance to the abyss
the muzzle, forehead angrily freezes
having overcome the fear of the unknown
push the right of the notes
the last straw cracked