People are getting late
People are getting laid
I don't have neither
A time nor a crush
The reason is unembellished and clear
Living for chance to fight
Then Falling outside
To specifiy the line
Of life of death
And that's my excuse to be here
Puddles are not just a mess
Slush is more than a slush
Getting used to bore and loneliness
I'm sinking in brine of leaden tears
And fly over clouds
Having left my home
With friends of mine and someone
Who cries for missing son
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