Today is the day of the beginning of your creation . . .
Today is the day that we can no longer play games. Don't hold pheasants in your breast - we've got to cut the shtick.
An astounding burden has been placed on our shoulders - tzu ois matteren di golus . . . to get through the gówno that we've dragged ourselves into.
You gave us everything . . . Even your name.
מיר זיינען חסידים?
With what are we worth the words Lubavitcher?
Do we understand the achrius placed on us while we gallivant around with such a title?
If someone searches Yud Shvat, Rebbe, Smicha . . . Chabad - they'll come to us.
Do we show it?
בנוסח חיפושיות הקצב
Rebbe: you look through me . . .
Where did I go?
You know me, that I know.
I'm no different, but yet (in my folly) I think I've changed
I'm looking at you, you're still the same . . .
As I said before:
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