These streets smell of bird cherry. |
Breathe and rest your soul.
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Just go and just breathe. |
These streets smell of bird cherry.
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Native places, barefoot childhood.
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A look instead of a thousand words that my father throws.
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Biter dogs bark through the fence next door
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I'm looking in the atlas on the world map, where my place is.
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Yes, everything is like everyone else - money, that is, then they are not.
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Parents are spinning and spinning so that the little ones have something for dinner.
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Creaky, broken staircase, young *** chealest.
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And you blindly have to pass this quest. |
Ah, well!
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And this is my room, I painted clouds on the ceiling myself,
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As if even then I knew that I would fly in the sky so often.
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From the window you can see the chimneys to the outside and the pyatyagu on Severnaya, 7.
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The barracks have disappeared completely, but the same dirt in the spring.
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Cups, medals and certificates, the pennant of our basketball team.
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And on this sofa it happened, no, no, and my friends moaned into the pillow.
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Behind the wall, the parents pretended not to know anything about it.
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I woke up and fell asleep in the sky again flying eyes.
|
These streets smell of bird cherry. |
Breathe and rest your soul.
|
Just go and just breathe. |
These streets smell of bird cherry.
|
These streets smell of bird cherry. |
Breathe and rest your soul.
|
Just go and just breathe. |
These streets smell of bird cherry.
|
My city is a winter city, my northern bear is a snowy land.
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The school is right next to the house. |
Know that I managed to oversleep.
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Discos that are more like an inter-district mixfight.
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They didn’t hear anything about nasvay under the houses on stilts.
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No, no, we buzzed of course, on the sporty style of clothing.
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Girls groping gently, young naked hope.
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An oath forever that we are destined for this carelessness of a drunken evening.
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Beloved life, how many you have crippled! |
BUT?
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One telly for three rooms, and that one in the hall.
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You can find me in the morning and in the evening in Dyushka in a bright gym.
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The president is not yet Volodya, green is also a small me,
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How is the tiger's health, mom, but where is my homeland?
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Braid the roads, but lead me to the house.
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I remember to the smallest detail, brother, how we grew up in it.
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This is not for journalists. |
Let's go up to the old district.
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It smells of bird cherry and whiskey with ice.
|
These streets smell of bird cherry. |
Breathe and rest your soul.
|
Just go and just breathe. |
These streets smell of bird cherry.
|
These streets smell of bird cherry. |
Breathe and rest your soul.
|
Just go and just breathe. |
These streets smell of bird cherry. |