You know, boy, I don't care who your dad or friend is.
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In this case, the worst thing will be not to remove your corpse
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There are a lot of clothes and traces from different hands in my house
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These bitches were checking what that strange sound was
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Comparing me to you is as ridiculous as comparing a children's choir and ISIS
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Do you want to walk in my inner world
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Then don't shout that you didn't warn
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My world is the branches of dried trees
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My world is the wind at the old graves, I see in you only the stuffing for the coffin.
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I seem to have already said something
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I dig holes at night in the light of a ghostly moon
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There are calluses on my hands as if I love the horizontal bar
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I again wanted the best, if you're sorry
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My stupid jokes make Satan's blood run cold
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God, the patterns on the skin look like scars
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Look into my eyes, useless compost
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I want to look into yours too
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The darkness of the basement will not miss the dull shine from wet eyes
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I stink of a morgue, even ax won't help
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Rescuers are unlikely to find his body in bags buried between birches
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I soaked the earth with skin particles while you belched from the pharmacy wheels
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You expect money, a heifer and a house from fate
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The rope on the tree is waiting for you
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And the light at the end of your long road
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It turns out that the train that goes ahead
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I can't become someone else and I've come to terms with this role
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Voices in my head make me hurt
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The smell of morning dew mixed with the stink of a corpse
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Homie thought he was an eagle, turned out to be a stupid broiler
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I would give anything to hear her languid moan again
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Her carhart is in something red, just like my dirty bolt
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I followed her for so long, I looked out her window
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Drooling dripping on the jacket, but now she doesn't care |