| The one-eyed, but pretty night filled up the sunset,
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| Pulls hare soup from grandfather Mazai,
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| Laying her completely pissed-off daughter on the floor from the potbelly stove,
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| Having fastened a shotgun on the path, I crawl out.
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| I will wander through the swamp, I will check the mushroom places,
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| I will let my soul bask in the stars,
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| Yes, in all conscience, we need to fix the grave of the cop,
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| That in the spring scared me with a shot in the air.
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| Wild boars and bears scurry in the state farm garden,
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| The owl carries its swan song,
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| Seeing me silent, he knows, bastard, when, never, I will fall,
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| Well, yes, I'm not in a hurry, it's more interesting with him for now.
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| In these skies I know how many moons are counted,
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| A long time ago I put my hut on the edge,
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| Treated myself like a fucking sorcerer
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| Turned into shit, but I don't know how to go back.
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| Here I'll sit, smoke, and go back,
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| Encouraged-pleased with a sip of moonshine,
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| Yes, I’ll take a look at the highway, mushroom pickers go there in the morning,
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| Suddenly, and big boots have two more cartridges.
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| Trouble with boots, since the spring it has completely worn out,
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| If they had removed it themselves, then I would not have destroyed them in vain. |