| Well, how are we with you, my friend,
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| Now get out of the habit of wandering,
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| Get used to homemade food
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| Stop being stupid?
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| What are our household names?
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| After all, things are up to the throat, and the years are rushing by.
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| And for what, we do not know ourselves,
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| We go through life with backpacks.
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| Chorus: We have no rest.  | 
| Us the noise of trains
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| Suggest stories for future dreams.
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| Over the years, these paths grow into us
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| And they bless us to go further.
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| Not for mushrooms, not to the country,
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| Not by car and not to the sea.
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| We take with us a sister-luck,
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| And it doesn’t matter to categories,
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| What all routes share
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| By kilometers and minutes.
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| We, breaking out of comfort,
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| Laughing, apparently, the devil beguiled.
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| Chorus.
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| Hello relatives, let's not go close,
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| But there is experience, and we believe the word.
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| We will not feast in a clean house,
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| We measure friendship along a dangerous path.
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| Without waiting for repentance
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| We take into account the distances,
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| Paths, clearings and dunes,
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| And the day when there was a gloomy friend.
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| Chorus: We have no rest.  | 
| Us the noise of trains
 | 
| Suggest stories for future dreams.
 | 
| Tramps of the earth, six strings at hand,
 | 
| And it's not the first time for us to return home.
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| And do not understand how it can
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| All my life to beckon the road,
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| But something is drilling, something is gnawing,
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| And I will go off the threshold again.
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| In the mountains we are all slightly poets,
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| And silhouettes in the blue haze
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| We will draw a map of life,
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| And, therefore, we do not risk in vain! |