Текст песни человек в плеере - дым

Time heals, but killing is not worse - to change other people's right.
Colds in each of the first autumn park and padikov.
If you get bored - you can assume that the poems were tightened tighter.
Shkolota in airmaksah and parks. Wrap the familiar arch ...
Snow on the puddles, puddles on the snow. Man to man - zero.
Those who are close to me yesterday - tomorrow he will leave or abandon.
We need more good, because life - it's a pain.
It does not matter that the fashion for & quot; despair & quot; the words will sound so vulgar.
My past - a real sur, escapism and bad parents,
who still loved and which loved in return.
I'll come back in a familiar road, fleeing from the foul wind
that throws bags of garbage on the streets of the city, where plus ten.

In the eyes of the beats fall, awaiting death, bird.
Once we say it's time to leave. and have nothing to say.
Let's see a movie later and make a delicious pizza.
And now I want to be loaded by looking at the shop drunk.
Near the square yard, where all my childhood.
I sit smoke cigarettes, with excellent views of the city.
If former neighbor prevents smoke, then I expect consequences.
At least - a request to leave, as a maximum - a knife to the throat.
Who knows ... there seems to be criminals.
But certainly not crazy, so it is hardly knife.
Where painful knives that will remain in your throat -
words, recalling his own, not the happiest, the past.

You know, I think it's hard - losing loved ones.
I thought, until his death remain clean easily.
Up to 98 icons - to give the utmost sincerity.
And now it's close, but so far painful.
As if his hand reach for, but enough just enough
to exactly know for sure -
I will not reach never.
Before himself among, istselovannyh sun splinters.
It does not matter at all - centimeters or year.

Only the memory of the trains and loud, beautiful toast.
We drank anything, almost anything.
And we must honor, perhaps, but it is not easy.
As in a dream - hard to make a move on his shoulders - every passing year.

You can even sit down? I am in my life ran so much -
from the & quot; Fleet & quot; to & quot; & quot ;, Ocean ran in itself from itself.
I read poems lanterns, humming a major snow
leaving senseless drunk from all the fun guys.

What I have lived the last years? Only cold and stupid fear,
and then flee in dreams. Sometimes poetry, but it does not matter.
Essentially the same thing: you need to study in the morning,
among endless spending again I do not have enough pieces of paper.

You look for me because - I have long lost confidence.
Word underlined in red, when I wrote my new name.
Ivan Dorn was not yet known, and probably too shy.
You look, I ask today - only you can find me.

We were awakened by calls and letters - is the new people can.
Or maybe instead of those old - generally no one will come.
I'll aim this gray smoke - five tracks,
inhaling the expanded breast fragile, transparent ice.

We forget easily those who whispered that without us can not.
Passengers advice is unlikely to be listening to a drunk driver.
I could forget, but this sadness is much more expensive.
If the entrance is boring - please, go away.

My radio - just the smoke from your hoarse speakers.
Burned, go to the garbage, this memory in which & quot; all & quot ;.
How misses his mother, accidentally left one child.
As he was glad when his mother in his arms in bed carries ...

So I do not understand why, but confident in the fact that he must -
I am expounding themselves in sheets, the present and not empty.
You hold, because they are yours - the five tracks.
It does not matter that they are now - only cold and gray smoke.