| Life has become more interesting.
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| There's a mess in my head.
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| But more and more often you and I are left alone.
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| And from the spring the same water flows into the palms,
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| And all the same spruce sways the cones above it.
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| The house once stood on the outskirts,
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| And now, it seems, in the city center.
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| Without a bottle, we figured out with a friend,
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| His lies did not fit into three boxes.
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| Today the horses have become oh stubborn.
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| And once they were, I remember, very frisky.
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| There was once a dimple on the cheek,
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| Today a furrow cut through the cheek.
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| Life has become more fun
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| Yes, the slaughter does not pull.
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| How do you get on in Moscow,
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| There is a feast during the plague.
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| And somewhere a woolly boar undermines the oak with its nose.
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| And trucks slow down on the highway near the tavern.
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| Not offended by expensive dresses
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| And tight female knees.
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| But now I call more often than my mother,
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| To reduce her pressure.
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| I, as before, as if a lion is ready to jump.
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| But fair-haired braids are not in fashion these days.
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| And more and more often I remember my grandmother,
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| It is a pity that there was no money for beads for her then.
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| We came to visit this difficult land,
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| And everyone will have to go to their homes.
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| The solar flare is short.
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| Do you live like this, with that?
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| The fates of human volumes lie in the dust.
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| Life has become richer
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| I just don't want to drink.
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| And for some reason, an extra piece does not go down the throat.
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| And, as before, the doctor dreams of all the bathrobes at night.
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| And, as before, I slap into the kitchen barefoot at night.
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| Memory will suddenly hit the forehead with a butt.
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| The chains will fall to the floor in links.
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| And I fall like a cloud
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| Into the virtual reality of time.
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| Today the horses have become oh stubborn.
|
| And once they were, I remember, very frisky.
|
| There was once a dimple on the cheek,
|
| Today a furrow cut through the cheek.
|
| We came to visit this difficult land,
|
| And everyone will have to go to their homes.
|
| The solar flare is short.
|
| Do you live like this, with that?
|
| The fates of human volumes lie in the dust,
|
| The fates of human volumes lie in the dust... |