| I am an effort mirror
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| I’m up to this contempt exceedance
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| Of a metropolis
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| Obviously modern
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| Because every known taste
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| Has been avoided in the furniture
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| And in the outsides of the houses
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| As well as in the layout of the city, of the city
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| Here you will not discover the least sign of every movement of superstition
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| They ensure it’s more obvious
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| And speech is reduced to the simplest expressions
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| Live with millions of people who have no need of knowing one another
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| Condemn their education, their trade and their hope in such similarity
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| That the duration of the lives must be several time shorter than
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| According to some insane statistics
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| This encased people on the contempt
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| From my window, from my window
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| From my window I see new ghosts rolling though thick, everlasting, cold smoke
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| Our shadow on the walls, our summer night
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| You, your melodies… You, your melodies… You, your melodies
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| In front of my cottage, which is call to the end of my heart
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| Since everything here resembled death without tears
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| Our acting daughter and the servant
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| Our desperate love, our desperate love, our desperate love
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| And the pretty, pretty cry
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| Cry in the mud of this street
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| Death without tears, death without tears
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| Death without tears, death without tears
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| The entire universe is now open to us! |