| I will come half-drunk home, where there is no light, warmth and comfort
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| I will write many songs about revenge, depression and tachycardia
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| I fall asleep only in the morning
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| You probably imagined it that way
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| The life of a purely average under-singer
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| I will look at someone, I will piss on the Internet
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| To the fact that I didn’t become one
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| I'll call my mother home, I'll lie to her again
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| What's wrong with me
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| With me everything is clear, with me my hiding from the obvious
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| From the obvious, I would have a couple of years how to understand that it’s not drunk
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| Not strange plans will save me from myself
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| I will look at someone, cry with annoyance
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| What exactly I did not become
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| On the stage your black pierrot
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| In a black notebook with a white pen
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| Always writing about how bad things are
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| After all, it’s bad always and for everyone to be a weak link
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| Only he is to blame, not someone who could do more
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| Only he is to blame, because the chosen path remains
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| Its even if it is complicated
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| And I will come to a cozy house where the light
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| Knowing that at least someone could give happiness
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| And thanks to you
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| After all, while someone is listening to all this nonsense, I definitely will not give up
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| And, you hear, you won't give up either
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| Tomorrow we will not remember our troubles
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| We are all dust, but each person
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| Tomorrow we will not remember our troubles
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| If you know that someone's
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| Tomorrow we will not remember our troubles
|
| We are all dust, but each person
|
| Tomorrow we will not remember our troubles
|
| If you know that someone's |