I honestly hate my birthday
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When you are so childishly happy
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When full of the fragrance of life and vegetative enthusiasm
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I hate all the gifts, congratulations and cakes
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From happy children sitting in front of the TV
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From the presenter and their awards and laughter
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From those loud yes and falch songs
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I hate cartoons and fake photos
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Cucumber sausage sausage school sandwich
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From the angry photo of Imam, obscenities on the wall
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From the couch and class to the automatic book bag
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I hate the fun bell and the parenting teacher
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From Eid and Eid and a loose gray suit
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From queue, coupon, bin, oil, pain, sugar, milk, material
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Forbidden decorative pistachios on the table
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I hate anyone who smells like barbecue
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I borrowed one hundred grams of cheese and a grocer who later died
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From the chicken leg soup of a duck that was beheaded
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From the fear of the sheep and the thirst for meat in the soup
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I hate Ash, Ashura and the butcher
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From the dance of stylish foot pots to age
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From the howls of an old artist on age
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From the green hair behind my lesbian friend's lips
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I hate the bad smell under the armpits of painters
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From the gills and clumps clinging to your throat
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From the bitter taste of your brain infection
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From modesty and chastity and your daily masturbating
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I hate the wet and holy shame of Lapat
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From my long beard and ridiculous and stupid
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From the words of my clergy and mystics
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From claiming donkey buttocks and tearing
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I hate wars and constant protests
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From me you and all the stories, God
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From the hatred of the most romantic poems
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From the fate of Gass in front of us
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I hate all this hatred |