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I'm walking alone again, with my headphones on |
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And I don't want this anymore, |
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To hit the streets without a chord |
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Now this city is my song where I submerge myself |
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Taking a long walk around the block |
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Every little step, every single step becomes a note |
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That I draw on the staff lines of the sidewalk |
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I'm walking alone again, with my headphones on |
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And I really really wanna run |
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But at this moment, I'm listening to a very very soft song |
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I'm walking alone again, with my headphones on |
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And now I speak and I'm screaming |
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Because I can't hear my own voice |
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I'm walking alone again, with my headphones on |
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I have to walk between smog behind sunglasses, inside my clothes |
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Sometimes I feel that every simple thing has a sound |
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And if it does--what kind of shape does the silence have? |
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Even if the silence is still with me |
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No one can hear it |
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Even if the silence walks with me |
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No one really hears it |
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Sometimes I feel like everything has a sound |
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And if it does, what kind of shape does the silence have? |
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A sparkling new? |
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A pocket size? |
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A white one? |
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A smoke one? |
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One that you can use as a tatoo |
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Or as a flag as an umbrella to protect you against the rain of noise that the city has? |
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Or maybe it's a package, where the secret comes from |
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Even if the silence is still with me |
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No one can hear it |
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Even if the silence walks with me |
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No one really hears it |
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Even if the silence is still with me |
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No one can hear it |
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Even if the silence is still with me |