It's either you or you're someone
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Soldiers in the ranks of terracotta collect dust carelessly
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On the shoulders in dense layers. |
Wait for the thaw on the wire
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And the shadows in the cold room lay under the ceiling of the crown;
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Up the stairs
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In the Tower of Babel - our high-rise building
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Where only a loud cough is heard -
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This is where we get older
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No senior lessons
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What is prepared for us there
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Among the ruins built by us -
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And not believing your eyes
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We forget among the buildings (Yo, man)
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Nowhere to run from the aviary borders. |
Yo!
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Everything here is pure in principle
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Willy-nilly, but stumble
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And you will collapse like dominoes
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Baritone for slow picking;
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A couple of lines by bit, -
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Shabby microphone about all this!
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Get down! |
Everyone has their own ghetto, with a local story -
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Where we got lost in stuffy square meters
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Tossing between fire and gusts of wind
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Generations have changed here to the white generation;
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They take credit of trust to open doors!
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My houses are houses of smoke
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Under the cradle zealously fall asleep soundly for centuries
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There's only half left, exactly half
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What I did not know and will not know!
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My houses are houses of smoke
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Under the cradle zealously fall asleep soundly for centuries
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There's only half left, exactly half
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What I did not know and will not know!
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(My houses are houses of smoke)
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From a change of place we do not change
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Cramped in personal space
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Angel and demon on the shoulders in the neighborhood
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Bend your line together
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All this will crack at the seams sometime
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The die is cast - we must decide
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How not to lose balance there
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Where things are far from a fountain
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Touch Down to counterweight area
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And suffocated in a dusty panel
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Where are the thickets of chaos and thorns
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But only stories are broadcasting to us by the telly
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Torn calendar on number thirteen
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Has a tendency to repeat
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Everyone hid in a shell
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In order not to hear your name on the radio
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And still in the fog my Albion, -
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A safe haven for the stranded
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Visible prospects - zero;
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But it doesn't matter, believe me; |
back in the day!
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Salt on the wounds will fly like a boomerang -
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Regardless of race and rank
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In life, a bitter hap
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It will come out through the nostrils without a trace!
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And so the houses pierce the sky
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We are at different poles
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looking for something alive
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In our dead eyes!
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Dust and ashes under the feet of a winter pattern
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In the midst of endless ashes
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Smoked up to the filter to
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Get lost in these battered walls
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My houses are houses of smoke
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Under the cradle zealously fall asleep soundly for centuries
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There's only half left, exactly half
|
What I did not know and will not know!
|
My houses are houses of smoke
|
Under the cradle zealously fall asleep soundly for centuries
|
There's only half left, exactly half
|
What I did not know and will not know!
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(My houses are houses of smoke) |