| Twenty-five years on the face of a grin
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| It's not a smile, it's not about that
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| Twenty-five years to collect leftovers
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| Sculpts a little guy, sculpts a big evil.
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| Childhood, my clean little eyes
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| Burnt, hardened, now they're knives
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| With them I cut everything I see into resources for my own
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| How to find your own? |
| Well, those who do not cut themselves - their own.
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| Don't pretend that you survived - you don't know about my house.
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| Give you shit and sticks - branches will come out yes shit
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| Collected from the remains, denounced for others
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| Thanks for the hard work, now we fill the table.
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| You need a softer mattress, a couple of lames from your father
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| And only then, ready to start, you merge everything back
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| The world is not good-natured - just wait, Orwell
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| They tried to drink us - they only burned their throats, e.
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| For my sake, the star did not fall maliciously.
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| A black cat is walking in front of me, mom:
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| Where fortune didn't give a damn about me
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| Why are they from the springboard - I'm from the basement?
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| Bitch, from shit and sticks - I'm all from shit and sticks.
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| Bitch, from shit and sticks - I'm all from shit and sticks.
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| Bitch, from shit and sticks - I'm all from shit and sticks.
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| Bitch, from shit and sticks - I'm all from shit and sticks.
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| Bitch. |