Текст песни Малина-В-Формалине - Нечего ждать
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Infinite sadness stretch skyscrapers. Square meters of paving the road to a point of no return youth and dreams. Another working material thrown stone womb. Spitting on the tiled floor toilet, evaporating among thousands batsil. Another Malevich, a connoisseur of three hundred shades of black. A rare breath of freshness through the keyhole, reminiscent of the way. The sound of a jackhammer in the morning, instead of cries of roosters. Autistic, in reference to microblogs, stretching his legs. Patron of cockroaches, the idol of the bread crumb. Cemented and inserted into the mechanism of universal prosperity unknown and veiled happiness. Forgotten odinadtsatiklassnik in pictures school albums. On supermarket shelves, among the cheapest pasta. The balloon stuck in the branches of a tree, at the bottom of the city, under Philip Kirkorov songs. Large roads covered with forest animal cell. The collection of dust from the street pavements, with faith, with hope in life's joy among the living. The Truman Show is not over, it's here and now. Among billboards and faded eyes. Plasticine man, primeryayushy images from the movies, going to the same: Under the stormy avatsii speaker from the first channel, swirling spiral tile fire in a communal apartment, leaving seed in the concrete mixer.
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