three stories (1997)

"Do not think that you're going to hear some sissy music like Alan Parsons (if you remember, what the "amontillado" is). Sassy registration and "Peteburg grunge" will rather remind you early works of Peter Gabrial and Robert Smith. Bakhurin, Gromov and Mikhailov have mangled  musical styles of 70's & 80's. Mad vocal and powerfull guitars and rhythm-sections disconnect a listener that is identified "on-once".
A very neat debut, intended all psyhodelic post-punk fans"

Newspaper "STRELA" № 4 (82), January 1998.
Translation credits: some e-translator

I'm straiting to run - stone's in my hand, stone's in my head.
The weather's going bad - me either, I'm cold, I'm scaried,
I'm rotting like a pile of leaves outside getting wet in the rain.
Anything I do, whether I want it or not - I do it in vain.
Every little cell in my brain - the voices I hear, they're crying for help.
I can't stay unharmed no more, my body is itching like hell.
I can't see, I wonder where is my home, I'm living in the very fucking heart of quick sand.
My damned life is goin' on all the way

STRAIGHT TO THE END, MAN

    Hey man, do you hear what I'm saying, I don't like the way it comes to me every morning;
I  feel like I'm sinkin',  I'm drowning; Hey, what's goin' on I wanna know;
I'm waitin' for the phonecall, waitin' for my doorbell to break this pressing silence around me, I gotta find out, I gotta very bad feeling- why she's been silent for so long?
    Every little bit of a time is burning me alive, it's stabbing me without knife; A smartass from the tube got the answers but  his answers are really but the motherfuckin' jive. How much power do I have to go on and pretend? My motherfucking power's goin' on all the way

STRAIGHT TO THE END, MAN

If you stare like this you're gonna hurt its wing

Just push it - it will disappear
Just blow - it will vanish in the air
It's so (vulnerable) helpless and so savage

Hey, Dirty Maggie !

Where do you spend your days, Dirty Maggie?
What are you crushing now between your fingers?
You're saying the butterflyes - they live all for nothing
They take away your luck, leave you breathless
They always die without a sound,
You know the murder is so exciting,
You even sleep with your eyes always open,

Dirty Maggie!

Kiss my lips
Kiss my chicks
I wanna feel your breath is hot
Go ahead, my dear creep
I don't wanna sleep -
This is the last and the least thing I want when I'm in your bed
I wanna stuff my skin with a cotton whool
Before it's finished too sad
Before the light in my eyes is gone
Before my isolation returnes
I wanna feel the fire of yours
I swear I will not feel removs
I am turning into wireboy in your hands.

Somebody's died inside me
There's a maggot within my body
There is someone I don't know
and it is gonna wake up to life
My cigarette is on a fade and
I can see the end of the road so
Make me blind; eat my eyes
With your tongue like a blade of gold
I am turning into wireboy in your hands;
You will die with me.

Lyrics by Andrei T. Bakhurin.
© 1997. All rights reserved.