| Circle closes
|
| Tonight's fault song, Holy let go
|
| (Beauty is fading, the feeling of happiness is completely random)
|
| (The feeling of freedom feeds the underworld, but somehow its distribution is
|
| fragmented)
|
| The tires on my bike are loose
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| The worker is pushed, but the accounts are impoverished
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| Forced to continue pedaling
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| On the moon day, I don’t walk out of my corset
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| The state took the revenue, but I can go out
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| To run a mill, I take away their thoughts
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| One man’s march suppresses the equivalent
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| Why at the local local Jonna is raising her child
|
| A busload will arrive on its way to Sello
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| Somewhere there is hardly any money and time ahead of the clock
|
| I feel the empathy of that pain position in my flesh
|
| Try my pulse, I always have a heart on my sleeve
|
| I try to change the world, one sand at a time
|
| Because things are getting worse in my world again
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| Not my strength can be enough to do so do not be intimidated
|
| This place will not change on the moon
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| We will not change, we will not change on the moon
|
| I thought I didn't change, but I didn't change
|
| I put the shit out of the conservatory
|
| No luck can win if you see what sil is answered
|
| I don't smile seriously, I don't laugh inside
|
| The previously healthy child inside me is now fragile
|
| Again, my poem is in pain
|
| On the moon day I don't dance to the drums
|
| They give me life, they can take it too
|
| If you don’t know yet, don’t oo what they don’t know
|
| Even if they give us drugs they will burn them off
|
| So they sold every gram you removed
|
| The "others" are gas for them
|
| None of them notice Mikko-raasuu
|
| A boy under the clouds, they strike their child with a flash
|
| I feel persecuted and always in the same way
|
| My face is tired of the frames
|
| I'm tired of gingerbread mold dreams
|
| No balls are stored on the man's models
|
| I don't see a lack of Janne
|
| Masculinity is what we men are
|
| If you want more than we want to be, you're zero
|
| But the moon does not change these pressures
|
| The doors of your own world are opened only by harder substances
|
| We will not change, we will not change on the moon
|
| I thought I didn't change, but I didn't change
|
| I put the shit out of the conservatory
|
| No luck can win if you see what sil is answered
|
| I don't smile seriously, I don't laugh inside
|
| The previously healthy child inside me is now fragile
|
| Again, my poem is in pain
|
| On the moon day I don't dance to the drums
|
| (Beauty is fading, the feeling of happiness is completely random)
|
| (The feeling of freedom feeds the underworld, but somehow its distribution is
|
| fragmented)
|
| It's a saint, bitches |