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  • Текст песни MoS - HS

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    Тут находится текст песни MoS - HS, а также перевод, видео и клип.

    There are some who are born distinguished
    There are some who are raised in praise
    But me I was always the last in line
    A blot in my father’s gaze

    No cheekbones chiselled on a feline face
    No skill or savvy with a sword
    But this game we all play is won in wily ways
    And sly is this littlest lord

    Cruel tricks of romance
    Degraded by their spite
    You snub your cub too many times
    You just might feel his bite...

    Beware beware of the words I twist
    I am small but my reach is long
    And the ravens black against the winter’s mist
    Are whispering the half-man’s song

    Whispering the half man's song...

    The land is a blooming orchard
    With fruits so juicy and ripe
    With a clink of a coin loose the lion’s loin
    Play a tune on the half man’s pipe

    In the arms of a whore I made a promise
    Sinking deeper into danger every day
    Cut through all their shit with a brazen wit
    Molding puppets from their minds of clay

    I’m no man of honour
    Myself is my true king
    But somewhere deep within me
    The bells of conscience ring

    Beware beware of the words I twist
    I am small but my reach is long
    And the ravens black against the winter’s mist
    Are whispering the half-man’s song

    They're whispering the half man's song...
    Whispering the half man’s song...

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