[объект медиа] Memory comes when memory's old I am never the first to know Following the stream up North Where do people like us float There is room in my lap For bruises, asses, handclaps I will never disappear For forever, I'll be here Whispering Morning, keep the streets empty for me I'm laying down eating snow My fur is hot, my tongue is cold On a bed of spider web I think of how to c...