There are crosses on their chains, on my dogs necks;
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And everything is not as it should be: moves, decisions, words.
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The cliché didn't pop. |
Is it greyish?
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But fuck all of us, grab your hand and we'll have fun in hell.
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Come in here, try to be me, life is the bottom.
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Come in here, try to be me, but be new.
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Try to raise your head and not dig holes.
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Try it, but still, *fuck, you are slaves - normal.
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Ordinary people with their eyes on the floor and the path is clear to them,
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Not busy, boring these are the stains of fate,
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But to change something and not * uy will not.
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Why waste minutes in vain, a person is just a blind zero.
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Just give *etish into their hands, they live with it,
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And you try to answer "how?" |
and why?"
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Life is not sweet syrup, among drug addicts, orphans,
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Lokhmotiev and Rob, Eros will not look here.
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A gray veil of ears, then the eyes will close and the mouth.
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The pen will not save you and you will bite off this pie with poison.
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Weak growth of new ideas.
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Life, alas, is extremely *er without the benefits of aromas and roses.
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And every hero who wants to get out of the pit -
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As a result, it will become a living, bloody hole.
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To yourself, be kind, do not swarm.
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Don't swarm ready to dance to your tune
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There is, you go and find options.
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The hut would not become a hole, if you do not agree to the role.
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Spring will sink us, I know, by clinging to fragments of consciousness.
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We saw all these signs, humble yourself, everyone predicted this before you!
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Crazy flight, there is no light and the last ember will fall from the hands;
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And the raid is not far from fear, you will die to the sound of wheels. |