Our savings are limited, the light of our desires is reflected in egoism
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Or we have restricted our humane side
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We slapped those who lit candles in the dark
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I had teachers who wrote about the fate of those who shot bullets on the peace border.
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Pro-war, done as per the literature
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I searched for my father's hands
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At the lecterns; |
I'm tired of losing ten hands every year to the vices that grow
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My year was ruined for me again, my people applauded (and) I broke my hand
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Bridges we couldn't cross cried behind us
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Just like crumbs of bread falling on the floor
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Suspected innocent seven handcuffs (and) someone grinned
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Give way to the office cars, let them pass
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Every passenger whose warrant has been
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Throw hammers on open jaws, your written rules surpass theory
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This writer, whose fingers were broken, did not give up
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How many writers are you a scholar?
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Born on the slope of his purpose, Caesar perished
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Your grandfathers became soil, look at the grave
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The one who defended the lie met the honest
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He competed with his grudge kicked out
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Far from money met the gun
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Reconciled with death, offended by life
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treachery to the knees
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The secular situation is tied to a bitter fate, the work is finished
|
Our tactics are breathless
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Didactic books on the stove wood
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And the country's stone soil mixed with gravel
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My teachers march in action
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My scholars have been excommunicated
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Didactic books on the stove wood
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I've read it for exactly fifteen years
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And I broke my school, I was broken in my yesterday
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Now I realize I've grown by rote, monotonous
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I left my information in my notebooks that I threw away
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And I don't have the question papers in front of me anymore
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Just as there is no answer to the questions asked.
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I am indifferent to the answers given, I am a plunder
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I'm in the middle, this big city around me
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A poison in my hand made of smoke
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In the midst of arrogant bathing humans
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Thousands of my childhood are waiting for their future to put in their bags
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That's what I was, that's what I am now
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We could not find our way by looking ahead, we could not open our eyes and reach our way.
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We could not keep our promise and take a step forward
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We blacked out our name but couldn't clear it
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We are a disgrace to our ancestor, now I ask my dear teacher: "Do you regret it?"
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The future is your creation, by heart generations are on their way
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They passed on the red, without waiting for the green
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Every bastard who finds the square empty has become a vice, enjoy my country and me too
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You signed your diploma
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Now I ask again, dear teacher: "Do you regret it?"
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Your signatures set fire to the torpedo of the match and burned school aprons
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You created big terrorists hiding in uniforms, you blacked out
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You have exaggerated my bright future, which I have been waiting for 25 years!
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treachery to the knees
|
The secular situation is tied to a bitter fate, the work is finished
|
Our tactics are breathless
|
Didactic books on the stove wood
|
And the country's stone soil mixed with gravel
|
My teachers march in action
|
My scholars have been excommunicated
|
Didactic books on the stove wood
|
treachery to the knees
|
The secular situation is tied to a bitter fate, the work is finished
|
Our tactics are breathless
|
Didactic books on the stove wood
|
And the country's stone soil mixed with gravel
|
My teachers march in action
|
My scholars have been excommunicated
|
Didactic books on the stove wood
|
Why aren't you at school?
|
If I said "you will go to school", you will go!
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Am I kidding? |
You have to read!
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you have to go to school |