Текст: Depressive Age. My Wine.
[Schallenberg , Grigoleit , Lubitzki]
There's a castle burning, fallen is the bridge
There's a good smell inside, water will not switch
So let it run in silence, let the flames their ways
Sometimes you'll remember the smokie summerdays
Celebration in a new day's dawn
The line of black boxes march along
Kiss their hands, don't wait to make a try
To touch souls on journey to the sky - goodbye
My wine talks to me, talks his voice for free
Talks in things I see, in my fantasy
Hurting down from fever deep below
Pissdrop-silence in the new year snow
I sense a warm ray, don't let it end
Yellow snow is in my mouth and in my hand - I sense you, man
My wine talks to me, talks his voice for free
Talks in things I see, in my fantasy
And all day it is the same I see
Castles burning, hold the lights for me
In the shadow, care to steer your flight
You know spiders spin their cobwebs so tight - I fight, I die
My wine talks to me, talks his voice for free
Talks in things I see, in my fantasy
My wine walks with me, where I go to be
Walks and talks with me, in sick harmony
There's a castle burning, fallen is the bridge
There's a good smell inside, water will not switch
So let it run in silence, let the flames their ways
Sometimes you'll remember the smokie summerdays
Celebration in a new day's dawn
The line of black boxes march along
Kiss their hands, don't wait to make a try
To touch souls on journey to the sky - goodbye
My wine talks to me, talks his voice for free
Talks in things I see, in my fantasy
Hurting down from fever deep below
Pissdrop-silence in the new year snow
I sense a warm ray, don't let it end
Yellow snow is in my mouth and in my hand - I sense you, man
My wine talks to me, talks his voice for free
Talks in things I see, in my fantasy
And all day it is the same I see
Castles burning, hold the lights for me
In the shadow, care to steer your flight
You know spiders spin their cobwebs so tight - I fight, I die
My wine talks to me, talks his voice for free
Talks in things I see, in my fantasy
My wine walks with me, where I go to be
Walks and talks with me, in sick harmony
Depressive Age
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