Mr. Someone has long lost the vector.
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Veins are not visible on thin branches, in the head by the wind
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The past was noisy - it hissed habitually, like a spoon.
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Previously, he scolded for an oversight, now it’s hardly something to gnaw at.
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Yes, and he lived so little, and almost turned gray.
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In winters, to this day, it often brings them into the department.
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I wanted to retire and quit everything at once.
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New gray hair, melancholy and autumn, dubas in a cigarette.
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Old park and questions, where does she wear it?
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Or maybe we didn’t see each other here at all.
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Maybe my world is fictional, yours bored me terribly.
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Without talking, who foisted it, I thought that he was unlucky.
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Like, who could, because I'm with everyone there with them, like a brother,
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Together they trampled on the square, let each other go back.
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But where are they now, I would be glad to see them.
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After all, he is alone, he even stopped writing something in a notebook.
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Life has taught here to be brief from the very first walk.
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From the moment of fawn pictures on the walls of his native city.
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And then he didn't come back anytime soon, yes.
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I did not see the human and did not come out of a coma there.
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And how many more. |
Rhetoric out loud again.
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Another marathon will not let you fall asleep for a long time.
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And Mr. Someone did not want to look for all this essence.
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All those hopes now only shake his hands.
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Mr. Someone, you quickly and imperceptibly aged.
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Lost in an empty room and cigarette smoke.
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Life is a deception, but it is made up of thousands of moments.
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Empty eyes from the pedestals look after us.
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Mr. Someone, you quickly and imperceptibly aged.
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Lost in an empty room and cigarette smoke.
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Life is a deception, but it is made up of thousands of moments.
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Empty eyes from the pedestals look after us.
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Mr. Someone, you quickly and imperceptibly aged.
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Lost in an empty room and cigarette smoke.
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Life is a deception, but it is made up of thousands of moments.
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Empty eyes from the pedestals look after us.
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Mr. Someone, you quickly and imperceptibly aged.
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Lost in an empty room and cigarette smoke.
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Life is a deception, but it is made up of thousands of moments.
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Empty eyes from the pedestals look after us. |