| There are nights that you are a basket
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| Full and you don't know where to empty yourself
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| You carry the weight on you
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| Of your tired days, come on
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| Without faith, if you meet me
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| You would change the sidewalk
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| There are nights that don't go away
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| There are nights that you can't find yours
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| There are beds that are covered with nettles
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| There are mouths that smell of smoke and filth
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| Rit: There are nights where I'm afraid to close my eyes
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| These are nights I can't explain
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| Nights where I would like to talk
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| But my lips have been burning in salt for nights
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| One no one hundred thousand nights
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| Where violence wins and madness vomit
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| And a brain metastasis from misplaced trust does not stop
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| Who is dead is worms to go fishing
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| Nights where I'm afraid to understand
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| Nights and there are those who are about to leave
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| There are nights where I have no more brains
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| Nights without motorway at the toll booth
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| Rit: ...
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| There are decisive nights, stealthy nights, short nights
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| Everything shines and you are dirty quartz
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| Dead nights
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| Nights that I have not digested anymore
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| Nights that I don't even move a finger
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| To save you, hate you, empty me
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| There are nights and then choose other nights
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| There are nights and nights, many nights, alone
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| Nights, nights again
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| There are nights where I have to decide
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| There are nights, which night to stay |