| In the port of Hong Kong, I sat on the pier for a long time,
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| I looked somewhere in the distance where jongs were swinging on the waves,
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| I relaxed watching fishermen spit in the ocean,
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| On the water, the circles confused me,
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| The bottle of kyangji is already empty in my hand,
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| I was in anguish, there is no lave in my pocket,
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| The alien city behind stood like a rock,
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| A hinged wall made of concrete and glass,
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| The beauty of neon lights reflected in the water,
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| Where are you the one that I dream about in every dream,
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| Under dark red skies one evening I
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| I ended up in the topic where this meeting took place,
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| Tattoo on the shoulder crooked streets of Hong Kong,
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| My heart was beating with gongs.
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| I wandered around Hong Kong without much sense,
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| Thai wild rice was sour in my mouth,
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| The clouds hung, covering the port city,
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| Where is the wretchedness of the blanket, where are the skyscrapers and slums,
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| The laws of even contrast argue in balance,
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| Local beauty for tourists like me,
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| Hong Kong is cramped on the streets of soot and soot,
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| Whores them crap colte massage parlor
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| Paints in bed the elements of the landscape of the East,
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| Like a flower in the eye, like a blooming rose,
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| In my heart, a splinter fell from the lips of a cigarette,
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| I looked at her legs, the sailors looked at them,
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| She just missed the noisy crowd,
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| Waving her eyes like a fan, we met,
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| Two solitudes flickered on one path,
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| That's what it means when the soul wants to sing.
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| She smiled in Russian with narrow eyes,
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| Sad thoughts were read, I stepped towards her,
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| From the world of mimicry of shadows I asked thoughts to get acquainted,
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| With the actress of the theater of dramatic people,
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| I was ready to introduce myself, I really wanted to please,
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| Invite yangji to the restaurant where it is poured,
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| Offer quiche salad to get a little closer,
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| After all, ladies like her are not without humor and passion,
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| I dreamed of seconds flew by, I watched frozen,
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| In my soul, a rush cut off some kind of explosion,
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| In my throat the anguish of my heart is cold,
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| A huge Chinese bull stopped with gestures,
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| He grabbed the shirt tightly and pulled it tightly to him,
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| And gave a monologue in pure Russian:
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| “This is Madame Wong her husband Master Tong is the boss of the local triads
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| Where are you going, brother?" |