| I’m walking alone again, with my headphones on
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| And I don’t want this anymore
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| To hit the streets without a chord
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| Now this city is my song where I submerge myself
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| Taking a long walk around the block
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| Every little step, every single step becomes a note
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| That I draw on the staff lines of the sidewalk
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| I’m walking alone again, with my headphones on
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| And I really really wanna run
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| But at this moment, I’m listening to a very very soft song
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| I’m walking alone again, with my headphones on
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| And now I speak and I’m screaming
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| Because I can’t hear my own voice
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| I’m walking alone again, with my headphones on
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| I have to walk between smog behind sunglasses, inside my clothes
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| Sometimes I feel that every simple thing has a sound
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| And if it does--what kind of shape does the silence have?
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| Even if the silence is still with me
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| No one can hear it
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| Even if the silence walks with me
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| No one really hears it
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| Sometimes I feel like everything has a sound
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| And if it does, what kind of shape does the silence have?
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| A sparkling new?
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| A pocket size?
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| A white one?
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| A smoke one?
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| One that you can use as a tatoo
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| Or as a flag as an umbrella to protect you against the rain of noise that the
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| city has?
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| Or maybe it’s a package, where the secret comes from
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| Even if the silence is still with me
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| No one can hear it
|
| Even if the silence walks with me
|
| No one really hears it
|
| Even if the silence is still with me
|
| No one can hear it
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| Even if the silence is still with me |