Verse 1:
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A lone wanderer in a crowded subway car
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Close ones are far away and how it got there, he
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Craft is the rhyming of words, and here
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Behind the runways, taxi, airport
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What are you ready for in Sin City this hot summer
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A cloud of smog and ash look down on him
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These people seem to be gone, where did he come?!
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Here everyone is for himself and you are not a hindrance for them
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All day on nerves, and in the evening with a bottle of "Jameson"
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There are many like him, just different flights
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He will not be confused with the locals, he is on his own mind
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In this car all alone, on your own wave
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Tell me ahhh |
It's true, it's like in a movie
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Instead of kilometers, miles and people are completely different
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And is it true that you miss your native Siberia there
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Is there anyone from Russia here?! |
Ahh? |
You dumped a long time ago
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You can no longer call them yours, they
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Lost in this crazy web
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These clear lines of high-rise buildings in this heart of the world
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Here, either you or life will order for you - a killer.
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Chorus:
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He does not know who we are (he does not know who we are), for him we are equal
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After all, there are Millions of us (in this city), millions
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He does not know who we are (he does not know who we are), for him we are equal
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After all, there are Millions of us (in this city), millions
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Verse 2:
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You can spoil everything when there is no strength to be persistent
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What are the lines on his black baseball cap
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Where dreams lead and how not to become lonely
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What are you sitting on? |
Antidepressants, drugs, poker?
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The sun will go out, let the ships leave the docks
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Don't give a fuck anyway, every day is in turmoil here
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Fragrant coffee cheered him up in the morning
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He woke up with the thought that things were not so bad
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You no longer feel pain, your heart burns and goes out
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Every day is like a holiday, only bright colors
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Even city melancholy passes us by
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Be patient a little, then we will remember these words, but for now
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In his hands is a pen and a lamp is turned on
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A spark in the eyes, a lot of ambition, a nugget with talent
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Spinning the "blunt" he blows smoke into the ceiling
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Way home, it was Stip - Per Polk
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Chorus:
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He does not know who we are (he does not know who we are), for him we are equal
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After all, there are Millions of us (in this city), millions
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He does not know who we are (he does not know who we are), for him we are equal
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After all, there are Millions of us (in this city), millions |