The fog melted again, like the smoke of a cigarette,
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Having removed patterns of melancholy from tear-stained windows.
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Spring will be coming soon - according to all signs,
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And they will run again, the brooks will murmur.
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And separation, and pain, and accidental joy,
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And I will throw a bunch of unfulfilled hopes to those streams.
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Only the warmth of your hands I will take and intoxicating sweetness
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This stupid dream and I will go to your shores.
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Only the warmth of your hands I will take and intoxicating sweetness
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This stupid dream and I will go to your shores
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Maybe I'll find it again - after all, we are even with fate -
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That broken happiness that I dropped out of my hands somewhere.
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As long as I live, until the faith in my soul is killed,
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Although the strings of a broken sound have been sounding in it for a long time.
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And let me sin, and I lived as a vagabond -
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Do not reproach for what has passed since the prescription of years.
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In the backyard of the soul, only government paper remained
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The pain experienced is the one that is no longer there.
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And across the sky above, like leaves driven by the wind,
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The fog of the past life keeps flying, torn into pieces.
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Spring will come soon, followed by the long-awaited summer,
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And they will run to the green seas, brooks will murmur.
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Spring will come soon, followed by the long-awaited summer,
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And they will run to the distant seas, brooks will murmur.
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And separation, and pain, and accidental joy,
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And I will throw a bunch of unfulfilled hopes to those streams.
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Only the warmth of your hands I will take and intoxicating sweetness
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This stupid dream and I will go to your shores.
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Only the warmth of your hands I will take and intoxicating sweetness
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This stupid dream and I will go to your shores.
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Only the warmth of your hands I will take and intoxicating sweetness
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This stupid dream and I will go to your shores. |