| While sleepless nights cover my landscape I display memories and my memories
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| Which on a sheet take shape now they paint things in me imbued by looking into the
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| Silence forces to open doors once closed remains a phase and not a
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| Sentence of circumstance that marks my path deriving the essence of the custom
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| Of my ego substance to give vent to on a sheet I explain what it leads me to
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| Writing the strength to escape from the habit leads me to choose and to light up
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| Off shines a goal to be reached in the sky my star shines
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| It will not be easy nor irreducible I pursue in my journey without a grudge either
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| I hate seeing then in the dark that light that will make me stay awake
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| While the city sleeps I will breathe the silence and my star will guide me
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| (while) the city sleeps on a sheet of paper I will mirror myself and another day I will see
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| While the city is asleep, something communicates to me the pen remains the only friend who
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| It charges me there is no stage fiction so much someone then up there I know that me
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| Listen to my mind flaunting phrases on a piece of paper loaded with pride
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| Now I want the best as a father for his awake son I write
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| What I live I breathe a wind of silence pushed now that the world is outside
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| From the room it remains off so I paint a thousand words seeing flowers on
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| Balconies or behind glass and shutters closed many other things then but many
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| Feelings that may never be written will never remain in us for the most part
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| Deep without knowing their fate then I'm offering on a sheet now
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| No longer white the pen slips and words fall out of nowhere like drops inside
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| A puddle
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| While the city sleeps I will breathe the silence and my star will guide me
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| (while) the city sleeps on a sheet of paper I will mirror myself and another day I will see
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| .it is 5:42 pm
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| With the lights off, I can only see the stories evolving with my eyes
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| Breaking up of families linked by a single bond then thoughts in silence
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| Of the night that then invade my story remains a slag of mine
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| Paragraph between lights out, an abat-jour that perhaps illuminates my state
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| Hypnotic prolific I remain incognito until the lights of my stage
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| They will not shine I stay awake I do not fall asleep thinking only of what
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| I want with the lights out struck by a blunder with a pen and a sheet ago
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| From through, like, a coded messenger brings advice and I watch over mine
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| Future and on the streets of the night I see people ready only to make money
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| Easy reduced to the impossible state of being but between good and evil everything
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| This then leads me to distinguish
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| While the city sleeps on a sheet of paper I will look at myself and another day I will see
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| (while) the city sleeps I will breathe the silence and my star will guide me ...
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| I have to know how to distinguish the road in order to then be able to choose my path
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| Towards the right sense this I think is my path towards something that has
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| To do with my future then I write with my eyes I see signs off
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| Deserted streets, people ready to change their clothes to recite all the
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| Nights then the same sad fate I look for vital oxygen lights off
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| On the streets now lit in my heart without borders in search of someone
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| Who is listening to my words on the horizon sometimes spoken above
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| A sheet only with the lights out without fake you are alone against the reality you try to
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| Understanding what is wrong with you but then I know that this is not
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| It will just be a way to waste ink
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| While the city sleeps I will breathe the silence and my star will guide me
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| (while) the city sleeps on a sheet of paper I will mirror myself and another day I will see
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| While the city sleeps I will breathe the silence and my star will guide me
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| (while) the city sleeps on a sheet of paper I will mirror myself and another day I will see
|
| .it is 6 and 19 minutes |