We ravers have seen such things in our lives that sometimes it is impossible to sleep
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Hundreds of trash moves interfering in wrong proportions on contrasts
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And in our cocktail there is all the joy of acquaintances and the gall of absolutely unnecessary separations
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Fascinated by heavenly dances, dismantling bondage
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On the details, so that after closing in rows and all colors
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Rainbows, we flew into the mortal stream of bacchanalia, leaving ruins behind us
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Even if we knew then why we needed all this, then
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All the same, they would blindly wander along the parabola of fate. (Woe from mind)
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For more than a year I've been off the radar, disappearing in my Bermuda shorts
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Spent the energy of space for nothing, thereby creating redoubts
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Domestic problems and my stagnation, especially in creative terms, was the result of
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Lack of will to move up and what once helped
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Dumped by me, among piles of bespontaneous reasons, I forgot what an opportunity is
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And once again, turning off the path, pouring from empty to empty
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I realized that further is only a dead end, and therefore much is thrown into the past
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Running out of inspiration? |
- learning new things - for granted
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For lack of a double, we test hundreds of drugs and die
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In merciless depressions, in order to bring out the eternal buzz, but so
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We are just taking the wrong step, realizing that it is not necessary to look for it
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He is in us - without any problems he places in himself the infinity of worlds and spaces
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To be empty for all eternity is my optina of deserts
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Infected mashrooms? |
defects in the tower? |
- it's not scary anymore, it's already fucked up
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Falling asleep every day, as if on a powder keg, had complex dreams
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I woke up and again with a frozen look drilled the ceiling, waiting for spring
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In the most muddy offices, breaking through your own total - not a line for six months
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And the more deadly "fuck it" hurts more in fact the result, in which
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I was torn apart by an ocean of illusory highs and depraved goddesses,
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But my lyre, you are with me again, which means I have irretrievably died
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And maybe you will be right in telling me that I fucked up everything
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The crooked path of adventurism will never get tired of inviting me to private
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Human rumor? |
well, what, people's rumor - he spat on her from the parapet
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And at least fill everything, the sky is the color of Marengo - it is unlikely that Atlantis will let go
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And I again on the other side of the bar, having grown old, scored on the leftist
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And for this I pour to all those whose life is on fire and who have not yet burned to the ground
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In a carousel of flickering lamps and outdoor advertising that did not change the alignment
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Feeling the germ of a dream, but not yet coming up with a plan |