| The world behind the fence, posters are torn
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| The morning city sleeps over the endless expanse
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| Paper rubs under a crystal gaze
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| We breathe into ourselves the problems of compressed air
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| Asphalt rumpled thoughts gives a shade
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| Letters are intertwined on brick walls
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| This system presses, as it was before
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| Sirens sing laws harder and more often
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| The faces on the screens are unpleasant and depraved
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| More and more people are talking virtually.
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| It suddenly became legal what they imprisoned for
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| Weak and strong money makes enemies
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| Areas are full of sweet aroma of love
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| Those who said goodbye to home became the goods
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| Noise, (noise) warms up the city breakfast
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| From lost people and empty cans
|
| Above the cities, the logo under the eight is strictly
|
| Combination one in a million
|
| Dance of revelation to the roar of engines
|
| Twists the poles of the magnetic field
|
| Above the cities, the logo under the eight is strictly
|
| Combination one in a million
|
| Dance of revelation to the roar of engines
|
| Twisting the poles...
|
| Fog hangs over the city
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| He steals and eats the first rays
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| The wind knows about this, but does not want to become extreme
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| It is not worth arguing with darkness in the early morning
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| The streets are empty, we wrap them in smoke
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| Electric wires knock under the rhymes of current
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| Billboard smiles look cruel
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| Advertisements play the role of city runoff
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| Cigarette butts on the asphalt like experiences
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| In which there are habits, love and parting
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| Power and distance in the hands of the subway
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| Home for the homeless in winding tunnels
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| In the center there are hotels for next to nothing
|
| For those who managed to grab big money
|
| The city saves time and warms up breakfast
|
| From lost people and empty cans
|
| Above the cities, the logo under the eight is strictly
|
| Combination one in a million
|
| Dance of revelation to the roar of engines
|
| Twists the poles of the magnetic field
|
| Above the cities, the logo under the eight is strictly
|
| Combination one in a million
|
| Dance of revelation to the roar of engines
|
| Twisting the poles...
|
| The first buses began their work
|
| The radio host promises the weather
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| We all have a hundred problems in the morning -
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| We want or we don't want; |
| standing in line
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| Sadness, like fog, will be beaten by vanity
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| The daytime city keeps repeating: "Don't stop!"
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| Pricks us with a needle, this is a race for money
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| In the cycle behind things, we became things
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| Lighting a flame in ourselves, we see the light
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| Otherwise, they become lonely, who became richer
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| Thoughts, like tasks, drive into dead ends
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| We are faced with a choice: to go or not to go?
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| Luck will come to us, and there will be no need to argue with it
|
| Having deceived the vanity, she will break the problems
|
| The city will see us, warm up breakfast
|
| From good music and bright colors
|
| Above the cities, the logo under the eight is strictly
|
| Combination one in a million
|
| Dance of revelation to the roar of engines
|
| Twists the poles of the magnetic field
|
| Above the cities, the logo under the eight is strictly
|
| Combination one in a million
|
| Dance of revelation to the roar of engines
|
| Twisting the poles... |