Broup. Broup. Broup.

Tears of joy on me, on the mind of roses instead of tobacco.
Money at zero, credit card - in half.
And for today there is no purpose, tomorrow a new river -
I am fused in the waters of Styx in the shelves of the sheller two.

I am in chrome in my teeth, steel illuminates the distance.
I am in designer sh1t, sugar continues to melt.
I am the banal BED TRIP - I know how to tell them
Who is, who is, whatever. Roll further than eyes.

And Roell further than I see. The person will tell them, but I heard.
Pain is a signal that I am alive. I am a signal, but strange Vizhn.
Joy divin on an iPhone. The day is broken, I'm on evil.
Wars in the style of the Third World War are created in my head,
And my day - Broke!

A new day is a dry outcome.
Broke is not a vice, and I learned that lesson:
Never Broke Again, but my day is Broke again;
Never Broke Again, but my day is Broke again.