We're from the gray courtyards

Мужской

[Intro] We're from the gray courtyards Where dreams are through blood Where they laugh in your face When it hurts to the bottom [Verse 1] I wake up to sirens So be it The kitchen is cold The kettle is old My thoughts are dark and compressed Here, the boys count their scars Not medals Here, respect is for silence Not for likes and medals Homes crackle from drafts and swearing Mother is silent Father is like a shadow In the eyes of tired seconds We have learned not to be afraid And to demolish If the world is pressing on the neck - we bite To survive [Chorus] Russian gloomy types We don't care about space Spit on their signs On their star forecast Let the aliens fly - here is the earth Not a resort Fly them straight into the plate Let's have a cold toilet sport Russian gloomy types We were born at point-blank range If someone comes to us, they'll go to the morgue We don't believe in miracles We believe in steel conversations This is our home Our filth Our harsh sentence [Verse 2] They're sending rays from above Like gods Our yard is shrouded in fog Boot prints at the doorstep We don't shout to the sky We don't ask We don't wait We're used to taking things with our hands Even if it hurts everyone

[Intro]
We're from the gray courtyards
Where dreams are through blood
Where they laugh in your face
When it hurts to the bottom

[Verse 1]
I wake up to sirens
So be it
The kitchen is cold
The kettle is old
My thoughts are dark and compressed
Here, the boys count their scars
Not medals
Here, respect is for silence
Not for likes and medals
Homes crackle from drafts and swearing
Mother is silent
Father is like a shadow
In the eyes of tired seconds
We have learned not to be afraid
And to demolish
If the world is pressing on the neck - we bite
To survive

[Chorus]
Russian gloomy types
We don't care about space
Spit on their signs
On their star forecast
Let the aliens fly - here is the earth
Not a resort
Fly them straight into the plate
Let's have a cold toilet sport
Russian gloomy types
We were born at point-blank range
If someone comes to us, they'll go to the morgue
We don't believe in miracles
We believe in steel conversations
This is our home
Our filth
Our harsh sentence

[Verse 2]
They're sending rays from above
Like gods
Our yard is shrouded in fog
Boot prints at the doorstep
We don't shout to the sky
We don't ask
We don't wait
We're used to taking things with our hands
Even if it hurts everyone