Nomadic Chronicle

Small personal from the word Fruit gospel sprinkle little neck Back when I was young and crazy, as they say But sure, I worked pretty hard, yeah Stole some money from my mom, and I hit the road to Leningrad I get stopped on the next train stop, in the middle of rural Ukraine This is how it's all begun And I will tell this story of a true rebellion Hoya, hoya, hoya Moya paranoia Hoya, hoya, hoya Moya paranoia Maybe I'm a man who is propelled Spinning circles of his doom Or maybe I'm just paranoid Placed by the lord in this room And a bottle will always be my cover All of your eyebrows, will you please untie And if there's any room for a Roma What else is there left to romanticize? Hoya, hoya, hoya Moya paranoia Hoya, hoya, hoya Moya paranoia Hoya, hoya, hoya Moya paranoia Hoya, hoya, hoya Moya paranoia This is only when I'm drunk Or do I see things any clearly? It's just like when one is dyslexic Whatever, I will stay discivil! Hoya hoya hoya Moya paranoia Hoya hoya hoya Moya paranoia Hoya hoya hoya Moya paranoia Hoya hoya hoya No ti dura