| You can call us traitors to the scene
|
| While you stand in the first row, yet
|
| Seven strings, Techno-Beats, Singing clean
|
| The worst nightmare of true metalheads
|
| The pure sale of your soul
|
| You can show us your scorn
|
| But first show us your bills
|
| Betrayal of the scene-rules
|
| You can dislike us as long
|
| As you donʻt admit
|
| We donʻt deny our roots
|
| We outgrew them
|
| We do not copy trends
|
| We create it
|
| We stand here cause we wanted it that way
|
| No oneʻs forcing you to stay
|
| Obey the words we say
|
| And pay our rent until decay
|
| You can call us traitors to the scene
|
| While you stand in the first row, yet
|
| Seven strings, Techno-Beats, Singing clean
|
| The worst nightmare of true metalheads
|
| Dance to the Sound of Commerce
|
| And be sure it canʻt get worse
|
| Cause we honestly confess
|
| That we want to reach the mass
|
| We donʻt need any fans
|
| Cause our Haters fill the ranks
|
| Watching us celebrate
|
| Every fucking note we play
|
| We are beyond you
|
| We get up — you fall
|
| See how your scapegoat
|
| Is overtaking all
|
| This is a fucking New Wave of Mainstream
|
| A middlefinger to this spineless scene!
|
| Dance to the Sound of Commerce
|
| And be sure it canʻt get worse
|
| Cause we honestly confess
|
| That we want to reach the mass
|
| We donʻt need any fans
|
| Cause our Haters fill the ranks
|
| Watching us celebrate
|
| Every fucking note we play |