Ресторатор - Голоса - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Yesterday I smoked more than usual.

Looking down at the playground from above, everything somehow felt strange.

My microcosm is as tangled as macrame. For a moment, my hometown has turned to smoke, and I'm smoking alone.

There are either rivers and their banks beneath my feet, a doctor with a hangover or a baker shuffling through the snow.

Trying to feed his family, he's baking a cake. I'm not 100% sure, because my eyesight isn't what it used to be.

And while time stands still, my ember caresses my eyes through a sniper's scope.

It burns my fingers. And who's having it easy now? Who's having it easy? Probably those who so impatiently gave in.

I looked down from this balcony in different ways. I saw myself in the sky or smeared on the ground.

And whose eyes will soften first in a lilac scarf usually depends largely on one's perspective.

And now, too, my eye line is looking a little lower than it should. Maybe we'll get a chance, or maybe a body will fall out a little sooner.

Throw it away. Like a thought. Like trash. How can this be? How sad. Captain, it seems we're falling.

And I hadn't heard their speech before.

I decided to go to bed drunk, the morning taking the pain away through the camera's sensor.

Once again, having forgotten the entire chain of events.

I'll try to reconstruct them, so I can forget them again.

Arriving home from the trip, having worn out my tongue with one of the bar guests to the bone.

I was on edge, and barely waking up in a taxi, managing to crawl home, I realized. Not enough!

Having felt every piece of the wall, hello, if only my mother could see me today.

I managed to take a sip from the liquor stashed in my bosom, accustomed to taking it out and drinking it.

And reaching bed at about three o'clock, so as not to disturb those inside who were dreaming their fifth dream, I closed my eyes and thought about falling asleep. I remembered my youth, thought of something stupid, then thought of a rhyme about honeysuckle.

Even though knives have slightly shredded everyday life, you can count on affection, only if you're blessed with money.

Let's return to the beginning of the story. They simply got into my head and started arguing.

On topics like plastic hydrolysis, the theory of the common cold, knitting stuff, and something else strange.

Even though I chased them away, trying to distract myself, the voices grew louder and the arguments more forceful, and I spent half the night.

I listened like I was crazy.

Despite my constant peace, this howl continued to disturb my mind.

Either they would take turns, engage in dialogue, or suddenly start yelling en masse.

I couldn't drive them away, even though I'd been trying to send them off intelligently for a long time, in order to reclaim my base.

So I lived with them the night, so that by morning I'd definitely enter that better phase of life.

So we live. Me and those two. A little calmer, I suppose. I listen to the speeches, then smoke together on the balcony, of course.

We remain silent to the creaking of the swing. We watch the sleep of the neighborhood, even though it doesn't inspire peace in us. Me and those two are standing and smoking.

We need to meet less often, at least every twenty. When I first heard their voices, I thought we could part and live apart.

But since then, autumn has turned to fall, and we've been preparing for battle. In my head, me and those two.