| There’s a celebration in the street
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| But what are they celebrating?
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| Oh, yeah, it’s like the day of the city
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| The air is impregnated with the presence smell of these beasts
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| Do you agree with this epithet?
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| They are of other race
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| They are not people
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| Or just the contrary, they are people
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| And I’m probably not
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| What’s the time?
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| It is obviously not morning
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| But I will not leave my musty shelter
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| I won’t merge with the crowd
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| I won’t wait for the transport foolishly, I won’t go
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| I will not wear the mask of normality, not today
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| There’s a celebration in the streets
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| It’s good that it’s Autumn
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| I can close the curtains
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| I can kill the noise with blanket
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| And will not hear the sounds from outside
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| Soon they will begin to break each others empty heads
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| Crud, stupid scumbags
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| There’s the celebration in the street
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| But I have more important things to do
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| I have to choose the name for my conscious loneliness
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| There’s a celebration in the street… |