The red evening weaved patterns, took the gullible by surprise,
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Where there are lime mountains, blue heather, white moss,
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I strung the shadow of sunsets on pine needles,
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For days he multiplied rumors in the gossip of the villages.
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Chorus:
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Woo, as if somewhere behind two fields,
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Oooh, the will yearns for prison.
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Or, boring without a bridle,
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So the nights were cold.
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The chopping block freezes with the cold of a star.
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Where there is no pain, there is no hope.
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As in the heat of the hunt, the dashing people bent their fingers.
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From "Parental Saturday" who will outlive whom?
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Who will blow someone in the ears, whose sharpening is the coolest?
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Souls were stained with blood in fights for success.
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Chorus:
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Oooh, where behind the three mountains,
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Oooh, they called the flames smoke.
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The sun is a black hole.
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In the dark night, the paths are confused,
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Wolf pack and wasp swarm.
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Without hope, faith cannot be found.
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And behind the sharp teeth, the helmsman is quiet.
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He is responsible for the chambers with tiles with his head.
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There was a time when he tripod the wild winds an evil army,
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Now he wants to, but he can't lame his reputation.
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Chorus:
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Oooh, where beyond the four seas,
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Oooh, there is neither joy nor sorrow.
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Only silence and smoothness,
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Everything is as it should be, at least drop it, at least tear it apart,
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Check the truth between the lines.
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Where there is no faith, there is no place for love.
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The red evening weaved patterns, took the gullible by surprise,
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Where there are lime mountains, blue heather, white moss,
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I strung the shadow of sunsets on pine needles,
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For days he multiplied rumors in the gossip of the villages. |