Текст песни Initial Chaos - Улицы мертвого города

back streets of the dead city a maze of words unspoken
as if the sky like clouds nails rip nodes are connected
flowing down his thoughts on the asphalt in the catacombs of civilization
we play with other people's lives, from birth to cremation
we play with other people's feelings sometimes getting in thirds
teshim stone arts mind adding spices to taste
camouflage inside wretched phrases beaten raw mats
il all be used although many feel that not a poison with skin
puberty eternity cheap comic heroes
marveling at his carelessness drowning in musty swamp complexes
too boring for many wires do not invent excuses
argument does not fit in the arm bare wire
like unbearable cold on the temples very heavy hammer
barefoot dreams of chopped milled peredavlennym
too hard to get used to the point where something stuck between floors, we
between sharpening steel edges between the lines is not born thoughts
long night I can not sleep cold gateways lanes
in the wilds of the dead city of dirty surrendering steps echoing
running away from the inevitability of not looking back
LOST dose of tenderness death will share with you privately
the girl's body is still warm at the curb are not cooled down
someone immaculate clean someone's sun somebody's ex
someone else a chance to avoid being alone someone holy beautiful muse
someone proud Highness someone's whore that sucked so cool
has opened a vicious circle was broken track Thorn
torn pantyhose on frozen blood clot a black scab
Protocol witnesses inquiry time of arrival time of death
photographs to identify the position of the body opening
readings girlfriends fuzzy personal communication victim
a slice of bread on a pile with vodka tears grizzled mother
back streets of the dead city smell the smell of death, impotence
smell the smell of envy hunger smell the smell of blood of violence
enjoying while we are young animation feelings rubber
dose of joy into a vein to inject a syringe filled with number of aspen
we inhale fumes from sewage filled with vitality
spreading hematemesis on obharkannym dirty railing
we have long been accustomed to deception hypocritical compassion
picking his emotional wounds coveted torture
hiding behind others' backs autopsied bleeding veins
our souls have become showcases for a long time and we are mannequins
we tread the same road in the dusty smog leaves Sokhna
one questioning God well, when? when? when? When we Die?