Текст песни макулатура - провинция

provinces

autumn bird screaming women nervous and demanding
These one-room jail stuffed with man-hours and furnishings
books bought from loneliness boredom sudden extra time
while we quietly whining about their lives needlessly ruined by laziness

what will I do when you're gone Please reply me naguglit
after the fire of love together things lay charred
exercise every morning to re-learn to breathe
full salary for general anesthesia remove the image from memory

bring me to his house to seat at the table and pour wine
If the holiday is not the dick on such a life does not need
It would be good together until the paint is not oblezet rain or crying
while in the daily feat not turn sharing happiness

Horse Ridge breaks throw the reins and fell into the red dirt
Vronsky and where the euphoria of a sense of beauty in her pussy
on the market as a clown standing another's monthly smeared
in overturned on the floor, one dinner for two is reflected life

I would like to live with you in a vulgar filmstrip
in the town where the eternal twilight near the shop fix-price
in a small quiet kitchen to cook your coffee and at dawn
catch your eyes like the feeling that you are not needlessly surrendered

curtains and pots of the first snow of the glass
You are courageous and beautiful and short column of ash
you too lazy to even shake it and all the cigarette flies into the fire
I see the heart of a rose on a tiled stove ship

I want to be a bad poet slippers migrant workers
socks worn by a bomb or leave flowers at your window
and run away laughing from the senselessness of the act
think about where you are now is not a lot of fun there are your friends

It does not become my enemies even though I thought about
is it possible to kill the driver that you do not met Vronsky
and I would not have to snap your fingers as Karenin
but the life of the person konvoirshi her arms prose rather than tragedy

you just thou shalt the steps on the next page you together
from his chest abdomen chin you take out insects and debris
I think it's called grooming any bruise to you as Bukowski
and you're willing to be his muse and love teeter

Are you sure that I leave you to go find an old lady in a sect
which will take care of me in joy and disease
and I know when you passionately run his hand through his hair
on the fingers hang seaweed snot time

and you will walk the streets of the beautiful city
kind passerby noticed a guy shit on your shoulder
scream handsome is not shit is my epaulettes
I was on a white horse, I salute the colonel in my honor

the air is filled with tenderness you stroked his head
Look dear, we are well received in the photo?
summer evening will fill your cool quiet room
otrygnet he smiles and raises his thumb up