Hide me from the jaws of gray days,
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Black glass, like religion, on my wall.
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I seem to have dragged my youth on my back,
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And the sin in me sings again - I can't sleep.
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I wrote a thousand times about the snow over the sky at home,
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My doorstep, but I wrote about snow, not about God.
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It unleashed wars, a restless heart started wars ...
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Streams run again, tears of pain in them.
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“So not new, surprise others, yes
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Tell us something that you haven't heard for a long time..."
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But the month is already in the sky, and the month is offended -
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A stranger laughs at the moon.
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"Short Moon", they call it
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The rest of the side, closed by the sky.
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The garden feeds its tree with wine,
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And a tree would have a small piece of light.
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Hide me from the jaws of gray days,
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Black glass, like religion, on my wall.
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I seem to have dragged my youth on my back,
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And the sin in me sings again - I can't sleep.
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A fighter for light does not like darkness.
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The fighter does not sleep.
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Candles burn all night...
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Candles burn all night...
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Candles burn all night...
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I fight for love. |
I always lose
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I don't trust anyone, I don't trust anyone
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Nobody but everyone who is with me... Thousands...
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I keep secrets of everything, even if you flog me.
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I am in this darkness under the eyebrows
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I hide my happiness and I know that I
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Forgive all the rhymes, because sins,
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What I wore were bags under my eyes.
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These are bags for...
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The girl is sleeping on the edge of the party.
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The sun sank its sneakers into the horizon.
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The group on the poster is not sleeping.
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The group on the poster is approved by her dad.
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It is unlikely that longing for the sky will stop,
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Even if the sun warms the stones through the ice.
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It is unlikely that longing for the sky will stop,
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Even if the sun warms the stones through the ice.
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The girl is sleeping on the edge of the party.
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The sun sank its sneakers into the horizon.
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The group on the poster is not sleeping.
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The group on the poster is approved by her dad.
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It is unlikely that longing for the sky will stop,
|
Even if the sun warms the stones through the ice.
|
It is unlikely that longing for the sky will stop,
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Even if the sun warms the stones through the ice. |