I never went to the edge of the village
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People said the trees sing there
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People said the stones are dancing there
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People said close the shutters
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Horses are swollen with hunger
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Garry smells from the wire
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The old people have no faith, but their fire is burning, flying to the city
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I don't believe the rumors, but the newspapers are full of and yelling at the premises
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On the road to the swamp, his exaltation was killed and crucified
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And while trouble brought the people to the threshold
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Panikhida did not dare to sit on her mouth
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On the gray swamps, water has drawn
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White bird over the village
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The psalm is flying apart
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Sing you the word of heaven, I am your righteous stepson
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I kiss the grass as if my daughter was anointed with springs
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Only the clouds are gathering and the dead are coming
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And we silently communicate on my windowsill
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Sing you endless field, I am your lost lamb
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I am covered with velvet blankets and covered with flowers
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I would just not celebrate and not anger the clear sky
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Sparrow flocks to reach the hawks
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I have never seen the light so close
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All elements of my table are nothing
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Violating, I was a tourist
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And the sad owner looked around our house
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Roll with a ball, all the shelves in the dust, and then they were full,
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But only said "I'm sorry"
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The river rushed here in clean waves
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It's a paradox, I don't have wings
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What should I compare it to? |
I didn't read metaphors
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Crying new killer realizing
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Where was happy poverty
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Unknown merchant went crazy
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Dividing your stairs in stages
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What is a prison to us, we can evaporate and drip from the sky
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In an open field on the grass
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Shines again in the head
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I bow to the wastelands, the bell towers of the monastery
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The sky is angry with me. |
Why?
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I can't get out of these rivers forever
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Cover my eyes with a bandage
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Cold gun is my main compliment
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I have to admit the fiasco
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Sing you the word of heaven, I am your righteous stepson
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I kiss the grass as if my daughter was anointed with springs
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Only the clouds are gathering and the dead are coming
|
And we silently communicate on my windowsill
|
Sing you endless field, I am your lost lamb
|
I am covered with velvet blankets and covered with flowers
|
I would just not celebrate and not anger the clear sky
|
Sparrow flocks to reach the hawks |