| Noise-noise - noise in my head,
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| Noise-noise - noise in my head ...
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| Whether from pressure,
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| Whether from a change of direction -
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| Fell asleep in Petersburg - woke up in Moscow.
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| I'm here on tour, I'm here on business -
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| I play super-concerts with sin in half!
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| I shoot arrows
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| I get into alterations
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| Gradually, the noise turns into din.
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| I don't drink vodka here - I drink cognac here,
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| I say here "OK!", although at home - "nishtyak",
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| They told me here: “Listen,
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| Songs are great, but where's the trick?!"--
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| Nobody needs extra nerves.
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| Chorus:
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| On advanced channel
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| We didn't get through with you!
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| And in expanded format
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| We turned out to be out of place!
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| And now we have a problem:
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| We don't know who we are and where we are!..
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| I sing again in the spat shure,
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| I am again looking for someone in the crowd,
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| I don't know how to turn off the noise!..
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| After all, he is in my head.
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| Blues is like boxing: the same blacks in the corner!
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| A little bitterness in the liver, a little boredom in the cheekbone,
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| In the twist'n'shout hall,
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| I agree to knockout:
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| Open an account for me - I will lie on the floor.
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| Here I am lying on the floor, wrinkling the wrinkles on my forehead.
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| All my thoughts, all my rhymes are used!
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| And no ambition
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| Although I have something to be proud of:
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| It is I who make poets turn in their graves!
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| Chorus:
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| On advanced channel
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| We didn't get through with you!
|
| And in expanded format
|
| We turned out to be out of place!
|
| And now we have a problem:
|
| We don't know who we are and where we are!..
|
| I sing again in the spat shure,
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| I am again looking for someone in the crowd,
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| I don't know how to turn off the noise
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| In your head.
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| We all listen to the noise in our head,
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| An Englishman in New York, a Petersburger in Moscow...
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| But now the rails sang,
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| The guitar clinked in the case,
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| And the noise in my head subsides... |