Александр Башлачёв - Все От Винта.

Everybody Clear Prop! A hand on the shoulder. A seal on the wing. Barracks are mayhem - a bath-day. The notebook got wet. I know why I'm walking the Earth. It will be easy for me to fly away. Three minutes to the ball of wax dolls. A quarter to death. From seven tattered hides - just a flock of wool. I want to live so much, no less than to sing. Tie my thread into a knot. A cold April. Hot dreams. And viruses of new notes in the blood. And every target of the upcoming war Is laughing and waiting for love. Our doctor will warm a sunny syringe And needles of rays will yet again find our blood. No, don't cry. Sit an watch How out of the throat comes the love. Catch it with your mouth. The glasses are cramped. Explosive chord - bottoms up. Promotional poster of the last war Is swayed by the square of the window. A hole to the temple. Blind horde. See, it's never too late to take off the armor. Kissing a piece of a trophy ice I'm silently walking towards the fire.