hello paris...
|
now you don't have to show the seams.
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beauty should have a secret from everyone.
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but I don't always ask.
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your cry
|
in my seventh, penultimate life.
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well, I'll finish with the last one myself,
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otherwise, what kind of freak am I?
|
fly. |
don't tear, don't be afraid, don't cry.
|
the executioner is no longer an idol.
|
my world took off like a sun ball.
|
burned down with tickets to the shooting range.
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goodbye moscow...
|
now you can turn off the traffic light.
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we will not crawl under the wheels of love,
|
we loved the comfort.
|
don't lie.
|
but just make their own cities,
|
they work faster than water,
|
when the route changes.
|
fly. |
don't tear, don't be afraid, don't cry.
|
the executioner is no longer an idol.
|
my world took off like a sun ball.
|
burned down with tickets to the shooting range.
|
hello earth...
|
why do we choose doctors,
|
who wants more hot?
|
and we say: don't be bored.
|
together
|
we play white on white snow.
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but I can't do it any other way.
|
not to confuse the tea.
|
fly. |
don't tear, don't be afraid, don't cry.
|
the executioner is no longer an idol.
|
my world took off like a sun ball.
|
burned down... |