We all move - the world is arranged on that.
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The turn came, and I left the East.
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On the road songs of hooligan volume
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He assembled a yard for me with the epigraph: "To success."
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Held me in a handful
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Almighty Spirit of the Yard.
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Left. |
Yard, I'm sorry.
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The thread of life is a harsh cord.
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What's in the wind in the pipe,
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Where is your kiss, girl,
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Still bakes the lip.
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Where the knife is not for fighting,
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Where the bullet sleeps without howling
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Where is an old friend still alive
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With a mark on the forehead.
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We are all moving. |
Already up to the third thousand - a step.
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For the first time in so many years.
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And as the singing soul commanded,
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And I believe they won't come
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And they won't take lines.
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And they won't take you away into the night
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To a prison loner.
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Christ and the one for the commandment
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Forgive so many times
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Ready and now to drink in one gulp
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For the merciful us.
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For the fact that they lived - toiled,
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Twisted and famous
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For repentance
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Not tomorrow, but now.
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We are all moving. |
Until the holiness of icons
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Come to mind. |
And not as it is - with your feet.
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To start running with a stirrup on horseback,
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Don't end up running cockroaches.
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Of all the arrows in the world
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For me - Cupid's arrows.
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Oh how I wish
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Only they stuff the body.
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And rebel, and break the strings
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For everything that warmed my heart.
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And warm everything sacred
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In the name of these arrows.
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And so that in the eyes of that girl
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And so remain an ignoramus.
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And the rest is trifles.
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So, apparently, God wanted.
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And so that in the eyes of that girl
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And so remain an ignoramus.
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And the rest is trifles.
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So, apparently, God wanted. |