...Our lifes are strikes from a knife in dead ends
rotten teeth, wiped out marking on walls
Smell of urine, antiseptics and damaged sperms
Ripped out posters
Up and down,
Up and down at Patission Street
Our life is Patission Street
We stay there
All of our live travelling the same route
loneliness, despair and the oposite
Ok... we don't cry
we grew up
Only when it rains
hidden we suck at our finger
and we smoke
Our life is unnecessary vegetables
on arranged strikes
vigilantes and patrol cars
That's why i'm saying,
the next time they are going to shoot us
we shouldn't run away
we should weigh
don't sell out our skins cheap!
Don't...
It' rains...
Give me a cigarette...
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