Текст песни вБЕНЗИНЕестьОБЛАКА - бросить

front door always locked
but the door to the garden was open
the garden is all white from sea fog
hosted another congress of souls: a couple of clutters,
jimmy fern and mom
locking the door with a bolt, Mrs. Johnson
took precautions
not only against living people
closing the shutters on the windows
Mrs. Johnson first
afraid of not blinking glances
forever frozen hearts
black shadow in the hood next
we need to run soon
pretend not to notice
elusive thread of talk
waking up through the fingers of sand
unnecessary rhymes, metaphors and allegories
in my eyes the moss turns green

do you remember me?
I'm that bastard from your yard
that was in different socks and torn crosses
the one that drove on flat tires
from dk lenin to dk vos
assembled a chain of old toys
wire scrap and other rubbish
there’s still a scar from a lighter on his hand
because of the lamb convictions of one ram

then I, as now, avoided friendly meetings,
parental guidance, generally accepted questions.
I listen to the third day
I can quit at any moment.

don't ask why i don't answer the phone
why in the fifth grade was the nickname Gordon
I do not know what to answer you
keep silent or blankly nod in response
I'll put on my headphones and continue to ignore further
I’ve been doing this successfully for ahem-eleven years
I read Herbert Wells as a child
and wanted to become invisible
if given the opportunity
oh I would do everything differently
special services would not be engaged in my capture
I would be quieter than the quietest Apache Indian
and only on cold nights
shopping center guards might notice
in the corner someone is crying softly
or laughs
and hits the beater brio
and rolls a medium-sized red ball.
and if everything is perishable,
then let at least one second mean something.

in the meantime, I will continue to avoid friendly meetings,
parental guidance, generally accepted questions.
I listen to the third day
I can quit at any moment.

a lynx trapped in your pupils
to the brim full of pain and hatred.
too proud to ask a person for help
better to die
apologizing for her clumsiness
like broken legs, your crumpled shirt
and uncleaned boots
kill the magnificence of your meeting
the dirt on the face should not be ashamed,
I should be ashamed for not having my face
I click my tongue when someone puts the stress in the wrong place
boil with anger when congratulated on a day of jam
bloodshot eyes
when they say cookies instead of cookies.

I have not seen a single wonder of the world
you will not find tibia in the closet
not that skeleton
do not wipe this acid mine from your face
stare blankly
to ragged memories
about summer two thousand and five
gateway fatigue
rumpled book covers
I skipped tutors
I put money on Camus and Orwell
sometimes white tokyo
often fooled all night
cut figures on the forearms with a clerical knife
mother screamed in horror
father silently amazed in the corner
when they found out that I steal gum in supermarkets
tried before the district
head off the academic department
it's a good boy
he did nothing wrong
NO FUCK!
I want to dismember the entire teaching staff
and blow up the school
a garland to hang the guts of classmates
on the Christmas tree in front of the school fence
but instead at republican olympiads
trying to tell potassium bromine from sodium chlorine
smiling at your jokes repeating to myself
i will leave soon
I will definitely leave soon.

and I’ll continue to avoid friendly meetings,
parental guidance, generally accepted questions
I'm listening to 3 days
I can quit at any moment.