Spring. |
Sent everything f*ck and started hanging around
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Don't worry, the weight is whiter in the evening than Sobchak's teeth.
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Noisy streets, traffic, so many girls
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Come into the chat, write while we move out at one.
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By morning, on unfamiliar huts in kickbacks, guess
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There are rich people for every frame.
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Reason, like a carrier pigeon, flew, but not to London
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There is nothing to breathe, we are looking for air, I was packing a full tank there and there.
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Fila loaded in sleeve, crumpled paper envelope
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I am as its addressee.
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Beatlo as an antidepressant, water landing
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He cuts a cleaver from two plans and pulls the threads myself.
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In attempts to convey something not sheets
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I try not to inhale the smoke, we skillfully cut the tails.
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We're leaving for
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, hiding ideas in the pocket of shredded jeans
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Hoping for help to understand this damn life here.
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And it is unlikely that any of us will run away to the gray area
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Endless space, a frantic rhythm in the chest.
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Walking through the leaves, the lanterns are a bright slow risk,
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Someone's steps at the door, a knock, you have to open it, but not a prize.
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Hidden eyes behind the glass of cloudy lenses,
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How did we get here, can someone please tell me?
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I heard shots outside the windows, I didn't find shell casings
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Dressed in kiks, I wanted to get away from melancholy hearing steps.
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New-new day, like a sketch drawn by someone
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Many people turn sour, few sharpen the rest of their skills.
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Handfuls drank on the consciousness of plaster cast
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At a party, he killed himself for an encore, so as not to be drawn to a bix.
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So that it doesn’t pull on bix, so that it doesn’t pull on bix;
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So that it doesn’t pull on bix, so that it doesn’t pull on bix;
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So that it doesn’t pull on bix, so that it doesn’t pull on bix;
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So that it doesn’t pull on bix, so that it doesn’t pull on bix;
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So that it doesn’t pull on bix, so that it doesn’t pull on bix;
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To not be drawn to Bix, not to be drawn to Bix.
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New songs and their lyrics |