Пошлю его на… (Acoustic Version)

The night smells of thunderstorms and wet asphalt, time stretches out like an old rubber cord. Words are just water, and eyes search for answers where there are none: in the silence, in the trembling sky, in the pause between thunder and lightning. The desire is simple and at the same time ridiculous - to send a wish to the stars, as if the universe had an express delivery service for miracles.

Repeat - like counting your heartbeat: “Another painful day will pass, and you'll want to live.” This is not a promise, it's a little survival guide: take your hope, put it in a worn suitcase, add some ironic optimism, and wave your hand at some star. A little naive, a little brave - the perfect combination for a sleepless night.

There is no drama of great deeds here, only everyday magic - send, wait, exhale. Irony smiles gently, because even if the star is late, the desire to live again makes itself heard louder than a thunderstorm.