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