Bakhtin - В яме - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

There's bread, water in the tap, butter on the knife, everything seems to be like everyone else's, but there's a nit in my soul: I live, I want, I sing, the calendar is ticking, plus the rusty sun seems to be baking in the sky. And in my head: buy! But sometimes – stealing, and then the pit stretches upward, creeping wider and the pit suffocates, sweat is driven out, I didn't climb here myself, the flowers wither in the pit. Night, city lights, a fog in my head, the same faces, the same drunken circus, no one needed - just like an old man or a grandfather, look in my pockets - there's everything in my pockets, nothing in my pockets - no money, my head aches, emptiness, the wilderness - a pit snorts, childhood died here - I buried a corpse, I'll perish here too, among concrete shacks.

Not here, not there, there's no life, you know yourself,

It hurts, but the only thing that strengthens me is what God left us. To my own, hello, don't believe the tears in the pit, even though you've been hurting for a long time, even though my heart is in two.

Years behind me, I've traveled a lot, I've seen heads smoking, but I didn't ask. There's noise in the pit, there's dust in the pit, in the pit, blood on the teeth, all your strength gathered in a fist, a crooked step or you're completely mute and motionless, a bruise or approaches to a heavy bench press, you're a fisherman or a gudgeon - a dumb fish, thank you for being alive, bitch. Mother Russia, love us and let us live, the only thing left to do is drown, people push us, don't give a damn about anything. Here - daddy! A broken dog, your thoughts unwashed, your tongue unwashed - a holey itch, plus here - a monster, walk past, groan, burn, booze, fornication, sucking Rome. It's quite easy to exchange money for years, the month of May, winter in the soul, and it will always be like this, a wondrous land, beneath our skin with signals—Peace stand still! Smoke in the chest, a vulture in the hand, bitch soul—sing!

Not here, not there, no life, you know it yourself,

It hurts, but only what God left us strengthens.

To my own—salam, don't believe the tears in the pit, even though you've been hurting for a long time, even though your heart is in two.

The pit isn't great or cool, but you know it yourself. A friend of mine, a "green lady," is sad at the party here, people are carried here by temporary fashion, I'm carried by the token of a stupidly lost year. Pain, noise at the bottom, the choice is often limited, you can climb over heads to the top, but the pit suffocates, sweat is driven out, I didn't climb here on my own, pass me the bandages. Tell me, how are you? Tell me, what is freedom? How can I find out? What I find is always wrong, yes, but up there - it'll be alright, nothing to worry about, they'll get by. They smile, looking down, but for us...

Neither here nor there, there's no life, you know yourself,

It hurts, but only what God left us strengthens us.

To my own - hello, don't believe the tears in the pit, even though you've been hurting for a long time, even though your heart is in two halves.