| where shine and fame can´t find the path
|
| where grass doesn’t grow of luck of shine
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| where all of good news never arrive
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| there you look for us and our rights
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| stones and dust, marsh and morass
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| underground stench, it revenge us
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| for protruding heads, for unsorted ones
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| for aversion to clap to safe our palms
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| we’re underground,
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| invisible and covered
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| dirty of mud and tired
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| but we´re ourselves and kept unbroken
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| darkness and cold, rebel house
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| underground castle, shelter of dreams
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| raised head, wild soul
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| free minds, open hearts
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| we’re underground,
|
| invisible and covered
|
| dirty of mud and tired
|
| but we´re ourselves and kept unbroken
|
| fame with its shine — confusing think
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| pink orchard changes into dark forest
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| glittering gold turns into dust
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| as higher level as harder falling is
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| head tilted back, slapping palms
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| eyes pointed up, they looking at them
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| they falling down with horror on the faces
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| tears repent from the eyes, don’t wanna underground
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| salute from the underworld
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| salute to the empire
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| where gold is glittering for now |
| where meanwhile is the paradise |