Текст песни Бандероль - Дворник

In the corners, entrances, arches,
In the morning, wounded, in a pepperochka,
Nicotine stick
I play like a snooker.
And the river, as if a brush,
On the canvas road, carefully,
Broken life thread
I write a collective image ...

The light has not yet went out lamp lamps,
And perhaps in some blind window
Someone in the lines of their own stamp,
Or is the truth looking for in the fault ...
Only I write everything, I bring the portrait
Unfamiliar to me, but someone is close ...
And maybe in that sense and not at all ... -
Not in the soul, so it will be pure on the streets ...

On prospectuses, lanes
I plan routes:
Where I will stop at the bakery,
Play twist on the sand.
Four-legged running
For my destiny, submissive.
I treat the little by little
"Snickers" and "Pop Cores".

The light is not yet included lamp lamps,
But everything is already in the same blind window
Someone in the lines again admits a stamp,
Someone in thoughts already admits a stamp,
And in the morning I was new
Sweep the corners
Unfamiliar here, well, somewhere close.
And even if there is no point in this meaning -
Not in the soul, so it will be pure on the streets ...