| Don't look so tired up, it's too early for us to stretch our legs
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| Tomorrow I will call all the numbers of this old shabby Nokia
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| Few will buy new music, but I'll grab it with concerts
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| And we will close loans and never go back
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| My brother, this car is poorer than that foreign car,
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| But in the memory of the armchairs, the smell of the father and the cheekbones that the mother stroked
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| Those five beat me, and I smiled at their faces
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| After all, every laceration on the body is my chance to change
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| I shook off my jacket, everyone laughed at the pain
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| To walk this path and sing my songs with love
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| And the old lamp in the kitchen has not yet forgotten what blood looks like
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| A brother is a guy who carried you into the house and stitched up your eyebrow
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| I'm weaker than you thought, but stronger than people think
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| Children whose house was built on divorces and broken dishes
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| I sold my soul to sorrow, but your hands always helped out
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| So hit me so that I kiss your white sky at night
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| Rip my new jacket
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| I'll report for you, Zhenya
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| She will smell like cigarette butts
|
| But repeat all the movements
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| I won't let go of your hand
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| And I won't leave our house without you
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| You sleep, and every morning I stubbornly seek
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| On the face of your half
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| The photo in memory will crash like a buckshot
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| And as long as I am able to lift you in my arms, I undertake to protect
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| You are gray like autumn, but by the smell of pines
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| Your white grandchildren will pass these melt waters without a boat and oars
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| I will sing my best songs to the slanting shores for you
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| I am not a prophet or a messenger, but you understand how much I am in them
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| This is my whole world, and until I gave up under the onslaught of opinions
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| Wrap me in a blanket and let me see those wounds that cut my knees
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| I won’t let my native come true, just like you don’t let me break
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| Dad, I peacefully soldered these lines in the morning like a soldering station
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| Yes, but not flux and not tin, they will not return my healthy head
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| How no one will return those closed schools, so truly forgotten by the city
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| You and I are two refugees, only instead of posts and borders
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| We spent years chasing birds but running away from birds
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| The old garden is overgrown with burdocks, the willows have become stooped stumps,
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| But while you are with me, I grow up and pray on the bridge that you will not be taken away
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| Rip my new jacket
|
| I'll report for you, Zhenya
|
| She will smell like cigarette butts
|
| But repeat all the movements
|
| In this world of flowers and lead
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| We are father's favorite children
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| And wherever the path leads me
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| I will sing about you and go to the end |