Verse 1:
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Look up at the ceiling!
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In the silence of the four corners.
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Fucking concrete box.
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Shameless block, shameless coffin.
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Here I am again launching thoughts into the void.
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It remains to either tear the rope, or stand on a chair.
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In puffs of smoke, 2pac blue, the plague is a shame.
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I hear a voice from the outside, "You have a son's trumpet."
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How much more? |
— The golden question.
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How much more scum you will be, the reason for mother's tears.
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Time does not wait, the year runs after the year.
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There is a cross on your neck, but you live like hell!
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So where are we going, where are we anchoring?
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Where is something shining or on bookmarks on salt?
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Where are you loved? |
Or where they insert hastily?
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Cooler then where? |
Choose? |
The minutes go by so fast!
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Chorus:
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It's time to start over.
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Let luck not meet us.
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I forgot. |
And it doesn't get wet while standing at the pier.
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Full full offended for sadness.
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(Do you hear? Let's get started)
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It's time to start over.
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Let luck not meet us.
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I forgot. |
And it doesn't get wet while standing at the pier.
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Anyway, it's time for us to start, here, all over again.
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Verse 2:
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Quite a few things have already happened here.
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We are all one about the same — a stock of sinigals.
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The dead dragon sits and asks to fuck.
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We are all heroes here, but after a glass.
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The soul has forgotten Christ.
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Half of me has returned from the valley of Philip.
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I flipped through the half of the calendar on the blue melon.
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Giving a plague dumb mare two leaves for love.
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Pockmarked stripes of the screen… drip-drip… dripping from the faucet.
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Everything in life is simple, it's not true.
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My soul becomes disgusting with age.
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My mother's gray hair is tormenting my soul.
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And I have nothing to catch here, on the contrary, only to lose.
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Self-deception of this life by years.
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It's time to leave things in the wilds, in the ranks, sluts (come on).
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Are there any plans for youth? |
And how many of her brothers were left there?
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Chorus:
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It's time to start over.
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Let luck not meet us.
|
I forgot. |
And it doesn't get wet while standing at the pier.
|
Full full offended for sadness.
|
(Do you hear? Let's get started)
|
It's time to start over.
|
Let luck not meet us.
|
I forgot. |
And it doesn't get wet while standing at the pier.
|
Anyway, it's time for us to start, here, all over again. |