Leave the vicious club, midnight urban.
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The park is an old stage. |
SAGRADA with brothers.
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Have you spent everything? |
OK. |
For free. |
What's fucked up, huh?
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Not stsy, not the day of the landing ...
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Then we'll take your wheels, rush to the "stretch".
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Do you know how easy it is there? |
Birches, pines.
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I know one island. |
Handsome just…
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And that sanatorium, we cut roses there as little ones.
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Who loves autumn, ... who loves summer ... thunderstorms,
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And who went through the Epiphany frosts.
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The peace of the monasteries, the icy fire of the font...
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They wept... they received their sight.
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It's like it's nine again, we're like children...
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Alone with you, on such a big planet.
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And if you feel bad, then don't give a fuck about me!
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It's time. |
But not to the doctors. Brother! |
Temple nearby!
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Are you familiar with my squad?
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This is the second volume. |
"Nabat Bell".
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Bom... Bom... the second album.
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And all about the same brother... All about the same... still there,
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Something above our floors...
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We still rummage through the dying forests,
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I had a dream, there: the lion "Aslan" ... and the rank was returned to me.
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And eternal noon - the sun, however, is at its zenith.
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Thank you... Savior...
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Infinity... the length of the parks,
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Swallows chirp, crows do not croak.
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On the right is "ALCHEMIST", on the left is "THE SAME",
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And "SMALL" - Sanya, with us. We became voices ...
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Infinity... The length of the parks,
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Swallows chirp, crows do not croak.
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On the right is "ALCHEMIST", on the left is "THE SAME",
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And "SMALL" - Sanya, with us. We became voices ...
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We will let the kite into the storm,
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Think about how words will melt into bullets.
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Stand by the cliff, doze to the voice of the cross,
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My decoction will warm the blood in severe frost.
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Baby, this city is not made of dreams.
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"Kutinov" and "Max" ... Rolls. |
And enough tears.
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The pain was waiting for me, scratching the door like a dog.
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We can't lift them... with black rose petals.
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Under the sky, the length of the parks,
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Arms crossed, (remember?) We swore an oath
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Drunk moon pulled the smoke of "Prima" with mint,
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At times, karma confused the cards,
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Silt from the bottom of the outskirts stores artifacts,
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Stereo dreams divide life into beats.
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The paths are burning with the first birds in March,
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Plunging stalkers go into memory. |