| If I were a sushi roll
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| Traversing through a Japanese kitchen
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| I would be mostly fascinated
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| By the people there
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| Their welcoming arms
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| And their strange voices
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| Their fingers flying around
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| Immersed in conversation
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| I would like to ask them a question
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| «Don't I know you from somewhere?»
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| «Don't I know you from somewhere?»
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| «Don't I know you from somewhere?»
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| They would be too busy to answer me
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| Too hungry and happy with their lives
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| Busy soaking up the atmosphere
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| And this restaurant with pictures of slinky fish
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| On the wall
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| The sharp sound of knives
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| And the smell of soy and ginger
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| Still in their nostrils
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| I would be in awe of their breath
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| Their breath, their breath
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| I could hardly wait
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| To be lifted into their mouths
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| And get broken in two
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| And lie there melting
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| Somewhere between
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| The sadness of their tongue and teeth
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| «Don't I know you from somewhere?»
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| «Don't I know you from somewhere?»
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| «Don't I know you from somewhere?» |