Nomadic Chronicle

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.

(enough 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



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.



No ti dura.

(you're a dumb broad.)