| This place I’ve never seen before*
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| Goes by the name of cruelty
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| Thunder cracks among black clouds
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| And the rain reminds me of tears of beauty
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| You cruel teaser, from foolishness I’ll suffer
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| Just me alone, my kind of last… supper
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| When no one is here to hear…
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| When no one is here to share…
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| No one is here to hear me
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| No one is here to share
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| My thoughts, my dreams I did hide out-side of my sleep
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| Walking on road in thickening night
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| Where left hands path is right for feeble minded!
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| The sky keeps bleeding above me
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| While your spit is like the flower on the tomb in me…
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| Your spit, as a flower on the tomb in me
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| Running on road in thickening night where left-hand path
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| Is right for feeble minded, truly blinded and, naive
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| The sky keeps bleeding above me
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| While your spit, is like the flower on the tomb in me…
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| Your spit as a flower on the tomb in me…
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| The story goes on and on
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| I’ll keep on begging for more and more
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| This is the way the story writes itself:
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| «What should I do with this
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| Would you please tell me
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| What should I do when story is writing… itself?»
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| The sky keeps bleeding above me
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| While your spit, is like the flower on the tomb in me…
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| Your spit as a flower on the tomb in me
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| The sky keeps bleeding above me
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| While your spit, is like the flower on the tomb in me…
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| Your spit as a flower on the tomb in me… |