The man who used to scatter flowers in Gauja
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Yesterday the loop of the linen rope was made
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A field was sold to a stranger, a forest to an even stranger
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Everything that was then is already foreign this time
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The sky looks into the room through the roof
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Despair is capricious - it wants to indulge
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Happiness does not come after a liter, nor after two
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The way it was then, it is not happening this time
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The wife is at the bottom of the swamp, only the basket remains
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Son behind bars in Riga, daughter in West
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The wreckage of the cradle has long been rotting away
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Then it was as it was then, this time it will be as it will be
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In the camp, he will shoot once, to kill the thief
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In the dark, the bullet started biting the dog itself
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Left without a friend, he began to twist the rope
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What was then will not be tomorrow this time
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Mother's picture smoldering in the corner:
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Being a picture is easy - living is not
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If you meet God, ask him to forgive you
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You were there then - you're not here this time
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A strange glare flashes in the hole in the roof
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The man with the end of the rope in his hand watches it grimly
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Suddenly, the mother's name sounds so soft in the light:
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Back then, everything is still ahead - this time is a different time
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A rope falls from the hand - a stinging arrow in the heart
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A husband like a child surrenders to his mother's caress:
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To decide neither life nor death for oneself |
I gave you then - this time I come to take you
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The mother lifts it through the roof into the air
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Where a wife, a dog and an eternal morning await
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A rope remains below, the only witness
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You were good then - you're redundant this time |