There is no end to the work done, barely carrying the burden
|
Always the responsibility of the giver
|
Presses on the shoulders of manure
|
With a bucket huge poured aboard, it's power
|
Not a place for everyone but a tray
|
At the end of the case, never for your choice
|
I guess a lot of people are blind already
|
But everyone is the only one in their own prison
|
Digging into the rock digs
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The golden vein bursts and brings a heart attack to the brain
|
I have milk in my mug
|
I'm already content with not being able to vent my rage
|
The girls in my yard are shaking
|
You think there is no answer to your questions
|
In my back of my head, the thought haunts me
|
I can put the children in shackles here
|
No end in hard work, snowmaking
|
The wind just adds that, that, that
|
No trend, whim or fashion
|
Duunari in his grief drinks, drinks, drinks
|
There is no end to slavery, harvesting of straw
|
As a mainstay, you and it falter
|
When the burden is given, it is borne
|
It's getting old with it and it's a coffin
|
The creators gave up, the drinks drunk
|
Eating corroded, vaa spouse defended
|
Well is bad, bad is very bad
|
It is natural and we are in nature
|
This is nature, most of it is this
|
Ants with melon, it is impassable
|
The rotting moon barely ends
|
When you need to feed a few surplus mouth
|
So the neck in the mucus
|
That's what it feels like to be a prisoner in the heat
|
I can't even imagine anger
|
I'm a happy sheep
|
So the neck in the mucus
|
Again, it feels like a flex in the yard
|
I don't even know how to dream nice
|
This is heaven for slaves
|
No end in hard work, snowmaking
|
The wind more that, that, that
|
No trend, whim or fashion
|
Duunari in his grief drinks, drinks, drinks
|
There is no end to slavery, harvesting of straw
|
As a mainstay, you and it falter
|
When the burden is given, it is borne
|
It's getting old with it and it's a coffin
|
Squirrels on a wheel, crashes on a chain
|
Communal cabin downstairs in Somalia
|
You have to have your own road, a week's vacation yet
|
And pile up your rights if you are Everyman
|
All roads open at this roundabout
|
You can do anything
|
You have a selection of candies
|
Purchasing power, a working phone and a boss in hand
|
So the neck in the mucus
|
That's what it feels like to be a prisoner in the heat
|
I can't even imagine anger
|
I'm a happy sheep
|
So the neck in the mucus
|
Again, it feels like a flex in the yard
|
I don't even know how to dream nice
|
This is heaven for slaves |