Текст песни Batiskaff - Оттенки сквозняков
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Здесь расположен текст песни Batiskaff - Оттенки сквозняков, перевод и видео.
Через это стекло все в полосках, и повсюду случайные помехи. Надо будет поправить антенну. У меня мания - чем больше я поправляю антенну тем лучше все видно и слышно. И нету больше комнаты, я что то перещёлкнул. Откуда то встрепенувшаяся музыка становится четче слышима, различимы голоса, вибрации звуковых паттернов, с деревьев летят жёлуди и секунда становится ночью. Щелк.Песок забился в сланцы, режет палец ноги. Настольная лампа зажглась. Щёлк. Вот! теперь опять комната. Опять молчание, через некоторое время снова журчание и высокий звук, внутреннее ощущение давления психического комка, оно не больное но толкучее, тянет куда то, и это куда то часто оправдывается результатом. Щелк. Иногда видно сквозь пальцы тот единственный огонь в жизни, у которого приятно будет сгореть, иной раз я вижу кубик льда лежащий где то под кроватью, и он своим холодком приятно перестраивает мысли в бок. Щелк. Такие вот состояния. Вдруг опять солнце, жжёт и приятно давит теплом спину. Все эти кожурки и смятые бумажки ощущений забываются словно они проходили под пластиковой пленкой, и вспоминаются тоже легко, одергивая её. Все внешнее отражается от экрана и идет обратно, а Drowsiness ... Tableware in about ordinary people's movies. Tablecloth accurate, but hangs out there then there is its detailed excesses. Table light right middle of the room with white curtains just did in the manner of a tablecloth. everything in this room wide: dlinnny and shelving, prolonged and squeaky domesticated, occupying the entire wall of the entrance to the window, and a table, and even a few bulky stools. A window with peeling plaster on the sides faces the outer life, with its branching crowns but share the same day, where the shoots and fruits hanging on them are personal rust everyone: the illusions of fear and dreams, all earthly silly but temporarily stunning. I was distracted by the external, when and here, inside the walls just enough to describe the intoxicating, the more it comes from, in a certain way, an unusual source. The whole room, and even clocks hanging from the ceiling above the bed and a cast-iron counterweights on chains that look like fuzzy, separation, butoh is missing important pieces. They are then connected, docking at the edges, then pass through one another mutating and shivering like dead leaves on the dark water. Peering - is becoming clearer and clearer that everywhere there are the bands, and the sound is distorted, as if we are sitting in the box and look for it in the silence painted swimming goggles. And so every day. We sit and watch the rustling of the room, we listen flying and clinging to the sun's rays - the dust. It tells something important language on the fish, and endless eternity interrupted by pauses. Whose are the slippers under the table brown, dead wood is piled up on a background of light green wallpaper, bristling with stalks and other floral ornaments. We are sitting here we are in the box, looking for all this economy, weightlessness, drowsiness, how to dive in the hand cream. Looking forward: can not will have to open the box and someone to constantly expected a click sound opens the box, and we would get a soft brush will shake both the excavations. Outside, everything will be as out of the spacecraft - flickering and hurry to become than what it never was. And more often the feeling of the world passed inside, and the room becomes a restless: scrapie floorboards, swinging a lantern over the front door and out of sight under the rug what is felt is not present but that exists. And sometimes the echo of the sound uncreated walking from one corner to the different shades of silence. And you want all the time, looking out of the box to shout out, shout something essentially true, for example: "Repetition is always different," or "Every day you expect from yourself of something, and when it happens - so happy, pulling another crumpled piece of paper in his pocket." But to say it turns out only to himself. After all, we are in a box. And the view from here to there - turbidity, and everything seems like in the past somehow pleasantly hazy and recorded magnetic wire of strong emotions on diskette through the dirty, dull, cracked, wind, spicy, private glass.
Through it all the glass in strips, and random noise everywhere. It will be necessary to fix the antenna. I mania - the more I adjust my antenna so it is better to see and hear. And there is no more room, I have something pereschёlknul. How startled the music becomes more clearly audible, recognizable voice, sound vibration patterns from the trees fly acorns and becomes second night. Schelk.Pesok huddled in shale, cut toe. Table lamp lit up. Schёlk. Here! Now the room again. Again silence, after some time, and the murmur of the high sound pressure of an inner sense of mental lump, it does not hurt but tolkuchee, drawn somewhere, and that somewhere is often justified by the result. Click. Sometimes it can be seen through his fingers the only fire in the living, who will be pleased to burn, sometimes I see an ice cube lying somewhere under the bed, and he rebuilds his chill nice thought in the side. Click. Such are the conditions. Suddenly the sun again, burns nice and warm presses back. All these sensations kozhurki and crumpled pieces of paper are forgotten as if they were under a plastic film, and remembered too easily, tugging at her. All exterior is reflected from the screen and go back, and
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