| On DR, give me a stain remover
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| The soul got dirty, salted like a grandfather's sweater
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| In holes, do not wear for a holiday, do not go to the store
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| This smell is simply vile, it makes your eyes water
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| I remember her virgin, with a pretty face,
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| And now she seemed to be cleaning the porch
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| How could you, baby, get so dirty
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| I answer, at night she points her finger at me
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| Points a finger at me
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| Points a finger at me
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| I answer, at night she points her finger at me
|
| Points a finger at me
|
| Points a finger at me
|
| I answer, at night she points her finger at me
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| Oh, the soul must be rinsed
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| Ay, otherwise you can’t wash it off
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| Hey, you need to study at school
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| Oh, the soul must be rinsed
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| I remember school, in the first grade you were already limping
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| During these years, you shouted: "The wound has become wider!"
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| After I abandoned you, locked you up
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| Behind my closed door you shook the term
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| Cry wild: "Kamikaze!" |
| the door came off its hinges
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| Half-dead soul, what awaits us now?
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| How can you get so dirty baby
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| I answer, at night she points her finger at me
|
| Points a finger at me
|
| Points a finger at me
|
| I answer, at night she points her finger at me
|
| Points a finger at me
|
| Points a finger at me
|
| I answer, at night she points her finger at me
|
| Oh, the soul must be rinsed
|
| Ay, otherwise you can’t wash it off
|
| Hey, you need to study at school
|
| Oh, the soul must be rinsed |