I don't care if I'm young or old, it's just the secret to longevity
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Don't put down your roots anywhere, always throw money away
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Nothing inspires like hunger and lack of permanent residence
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I don’t remember how I fell asleep with a cat book by a random woman
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Houses open doors for me like a pimp to a soldier
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I lay down on the bed without taking off my shoes, I feel tension and distrust
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Furniture and walls look at all these stories in bewilderment
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Adhering to me and sins on the soles, but this is also worth nothing
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A duffel bag under my cheek, I hold on to the side, the apartment rolls smoothly
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Either this is the creaking of the balcony, or I remembered a quote from Solzhenitsyn
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I'm used to being a stranger, I won't move until my morning comes
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And having rolled out from the next porch, I will soon forget this night
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What kind of skin is on me today, several different ones for each room
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In an endless labyrinth, demons shout something over their shoulder something
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Death stands on the platform, I see, but she did not notice strangely
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Like gypsies on wagons I walk through the chain of villages of cities and countries
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This morning is like a blank sheet, I don’t remember which way I should go
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In a glass of water or whiskey, instead of warming up, I will jump from the balcony
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Any dream will do, just to escape from registration
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A ghost just to remain a homeless Russian
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This morning is clean
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In a glass of water or
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Any will do
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ghost
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Homeless
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I don't believe in solidarity, I don't dream of a commune house
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Some people throw shoes into the whiskey of another in the alleyway
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Neither the activist nor the stooping cop in the passage will call me
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I'm like a blank slate on which a fool draws his scribbles
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I'm not a diligent worker, don't make me bow
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And I will dream of snowdrops while you are fucking on shift
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I'm a bastard to listen to stories to answer your questions
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My personal kind of sanatorium to stand alone in silence
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Such is my plan barbarossa to walk behind hundreds of rooms
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On the same road, nothing will drown out the laughter
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Beyond the hateful threshold we have an endless truce
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My old se on the palm speaks Stirner quotes
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I can easily part with my diary and billions of photos
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Like a door without any locks, I'll put someone else's face on
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The flabby stomach trembles under the blade and everyone will fall asleep as one,
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And I will run away along the overgrown paths like an old hamsun whip
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This landscape, like a blue bird, will disappear as soon as I touch it.
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In a glass of water or whiskey, I'll leave it for another
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Any dream will do, just to escape from registration
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Ghosts just to stay drunk evangelist
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Drunk, drunk
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A ghost just to stay
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Drunk, drunk
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Drunk
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