| In a paradise of emptiness, the brain is left in a cloakroom
|
| With the same eyes every day, the display terminal is stared at
|
| Weekly: child trafficking, murders
|
| For a moment, the news is not in vain
|
| Assemble a group of pyrrins, close the house to the supervised
|
| «Real life» is made public, even «secrets» are traded
|
| No crises of interest; |
| massacres
|
| For a moment, the news is not in vain
|
| Fold the journey through the bit sky -
|
| To reshape their world
|
| Nothing here remains sacred
|
| The idea is the purest stained
|
| In the spoiled meat market:
|
| Exchanged, stolen, bought
|
| Values, soul and body are sold
|
| Everyone takes a turn
|
| Spoiled meat market
|
| Everything is on sale as long as the price is agreed
|
| New car and home sales with debt are taken care of
|
| An endless chain of quick tips, crawling down your throat
|
| Nothing here remains sacred
|
| The idea is the purest stained
|
| In the spoiled meat market:
|
| Exchanged, stolen, bought
|
| Values, soul and body are sold
|
| Everyone takes a turn
|
| Spoiled meat market
|
| Everything is on sale as long as the price is agreed
|
| Redeem the peace of mind. |
| Close your eyes with evil
|
| Attach the positions of the tongue. |
| With your ears covered, walk
|
| Make up for reality, peel off all the dirt
|
| No yesterday, no future, no future |