Chorus:
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Under the notes of the street, and on a gray lonely morning -
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The sky is mother-of-pearl, yesterday's smell is prodigal.
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Again - you go clubbing, and I pluck from the flowerbed,
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Then, like this, I’ll light and blow the puffs of smoke.
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Under the notes of the street, and on a gray lonely morning -
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The sky is mother-of-pearl, yesterday's smell is prodigal.
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Again - you go clubbing, and I pluck from the flowerbed,
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Then, like this, I’ll light and blow the puffs of smoke.
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Again smoke for the hundredth time. |
There is a window with a balcony.
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I'm cold in my soul, but ringtones give out my heart.
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Who are we, who are we? |
I didn't find the answer.
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Are we children of darkness or are we still children of light?
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I will cover with a soft blanket, which I will call love.
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So carefully and gently, with pain on the wounds with salt.
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You sneak a smile when rap gives you a heel.
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I know there is a bridge between us, but it is so shaky.
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Again he went without a hat. |
Winter, bitter cold.
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When there is a hood - fuck what a hunger in the heart.
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0.5 - barley malt and unchanged Winston.
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Again smoke through the window, two missed ones from relatives.
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I flew, but low. |
The soul flew higher.
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But you - remember: it was heard - it was not heard.
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When the Almighty describes to us there, he will write:
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Thanks to those who listened. |
Thanks to those who listen!
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Chorus:
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Under the notes of the street, and on a gray lonely morning -
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The sky is mother-of-pearl, yesterday's smell is prodigal.
|
Again - you go clubbing, and I pluck from the flowerbed,
|
Then, like this, I’ll light and blow the puffs of smoke.
|
Under the notes of the street, and on a gray lonely morning -
|
The sky is mother-of-pearl, yesterday's smell is prodigal.
|
Again - you go clubbing, and I pluck from the flowerbed,
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Then, like this, I’ll light and blow the puffs of smoke.
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Among the walls of vanilla one rotted so much
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The plot of ordinary films, where they acquire wings.
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Where all the roads are to your nose, crying, wow, fidget!
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This is Great Russia. |
Mom, don't be serious.
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I do not presume to judge because you will not be judged
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I'm an ordinary one, we're shooting that ordinary film.
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The plot of the film: lonely among the walls,
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And when a piece of ribbon is measured to us by someone.
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When and by this someone, the case will be painted.
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Perhaps it will be better when they shut up all the *ucheks
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Let the clouds disperse, let's stretch our hands to the sun.
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Yes, don't torture me anymore, give me colors, give me portions.
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Give me portions of life, I will appreciate with a sigh.
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Let me feel bad, the main thing is not to *wow!
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Ahay or oah, the main thing is not to remain vague,
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So that the path is good, and this day is not judgmental!
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Chorus:
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Under the notes of the street, and on a gray lonely morning -
|
The sky is mother-of-pearl, yesterday's smell is prodigal.
|
Again - you go clubbing, and I pluck from the flowerbed,
|
Then, like this, I’ll light and blow the puffs of smoke.
|
Under the notes of the street, and on a gray lonely morning -
|
The sky is mother-of-pearl, yesterday's smell is prodigal.
|
Again - you go clubbing, and I pluck from the flowerbed,
|
Then, like this, I’ll light and blow the puffs of smoke. |