Текст песни горит сигарета - алеет восток

You're taking me to the world of underground tunnels,
corridors, mirrors, dead ends, turns,
bridges, mazes, hanging gardens,
the streets of the ancient city, where the gate
Castle hanged. And it's worth watch.
And in the shadow of the hill resting cohort.
The minute hand is against the clock.
The minute hand is against the clock.

You're taking me to the world in which Boreas
blowing through the windows tightly closed
all transitions of your gallery,
where in the stillness of the night come alive webs
and the beat of the music, and the passage of light;
and the whole night waiting for the fleet
on the coast lit beacons.

You're taking me to the world where I am - this is me,
and it does not work more than the law of attraction.
Lights under the feet of the planet Earth,
continuing its circular motion.
Which leads us to the horror or delight
This extends the half-life of uranium.
Lit cigarette. Is Red East.
Champagne flows from the tap in the kitchen
on our heads.