FukkTooReel - Дураки - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Hey, how’s it going? Things are trickling in slowly.

Let’s just hope we don’t drink it all up at once—it’s a race out here.

Those puppet-master freaks are tugging at our nerves like strings.

Fools argue over who’s dumber, while we watch the derby unfold.

You don’t need brains just to survive.

Not if luck is on your side—if Fate has left her lipstick kiss upon your cheek.

Not if the only budget you track is the balance on your card...

Or if your wallet’s getting thinner, but you’ve still got enough to get by.

Times are changing, and much will never be the same again.

Yet the old principle—of roads and fools—remains right where it was, fresh as ever.

People are growing uglier on the inside, even if they look the same on the out.

And if there’s a big slice of the pie up for grabs? Cut me a piece.

You know that life is beautiful—and I know it, too.

You can tell just by looking at this perpetually grumpy mug of mine.

My birthday feels further away with every passing year, while the phrase "I’ve lived a full life" pops up more and more often.

Fools think they’re smart... and I used to think *I* was the fool.

Here—take it; a blank slate lies before you.

Head on down below if you’re looking for free speech.

To your right, you’ll find the tools to help you de-stress.

To your left, a forest awaits your gaze—

A forest of hands belonging to poor souls who, for the sake of a flag,

Will give up their lives—not for nothing—but with a clenched fist.

It’s never simple... so how *should* it be? You want to fight *them*? You’re a fool!

The only place higher than this is the attic! Everything is wrong! Everything is wrong! You can go against the grain.

You can do something just to please—

Following the path of an outstretched hand.

Years pass, yet many—forgetting their rough drafts—

End up in dead ends, having lost their way—fools, every one of them.

Ultimately, a result is required; I squeeze the life out of these fools.

Their intentions are pure.

But as that genuine smile begins to reveal its fangs,

And something akin to a squeal of delight draws near,

Every avenue is thrown wide open to stupidity—no bargaining involved.

It’s all just a matter of odds—how things might be, or might not be.

We ignore the deceitful hand reaching out to us as we pass by—yeah.

Boys grow up and become men,

Yet deep down, to this very day, they remain ensnared in the abysses of evil.

There isn't enough rage; teeth clench dry, the wind blows, jackets get soaked.

The fish rots from the head—and eventually, the fish dies.

How can you speak when there are no words left?

You can plan ahead; you can take the shortcut.

None of this is done *for* anything, nor is it done *in spite* of anything.

Who needs your flashy threads? Who needs your word—

The promise you make while sitting at the same table,

Swearing to stand united as a single barrel?

Again and again.

Here, take this—a blank sheet lies before you.

For freedom of speech, please proceed downstairs.

To your right, you’ll find tools to relieve your stress;

To your left, a forest awaits your gaze—

A forest of hands belonging to poor wretches—

Wretches who would give up their lives for a flag—and not for free—

Raising their fists in defiance.

It’s never simple—but how else can it be? To stand against them? You’re a fool!

The only thing higher than you is the attic! Everything is wrong! Everything is wrong!