| Crowding in black times
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| Fog banks envelop reality, so that the truth is finally revealed
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| If the future is mine, we are all on our ass
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| I drive the burning bus over the edge without hesitation
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| "On collision course" is the nearest designation
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| Cash settlement at box 1 and then funeral
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| With one foot in the grave, I vomit on your indignation
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| Above the sight of a sinful sun, prepare, let 'the fire rain down
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| And leaves cities in flames
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| Tightens the grip, because we know they are ready with hay thief and torches
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| When we stagger out with one of the locals under his arm
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| The nightmare of the Bible Belt, punishes milkmaids to our own songs
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| And why not enjoy that shit
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| Collective shaving will happen on a scale never seen before
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| Paranoia and the grove are planted deep inside me
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| You think I laugh when I smile, where the fuck is my iron pipe?
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| I told it to them, I told it to them
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| Her flat, dead waffles do not make me pernite
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| Because I do not discriminate against any bitches
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| And leans into everything with the soul in a straitjacket
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| I have it go’e under the skin and a bad one
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| Follows my soul through the cold
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| So I'm never alone when I smile
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| No more problems - where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| I have it go’e under the skin and a bad one
|
| Follows my soul through the cold
|
| So I'm never alone when I smile
|
| No more problems - where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| Arh, I'm Karl Mar Møller of darkness
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| Except that it's never been a responsible game to visit 'me
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| I have Steen Jørgensen's extra arm in my underbelly
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| Let your tongue run around in your innocence to examine you
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| Takes your naked body to rituals in a stone dolmen
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| And spread out on rabbit skin and let the drum summon the prince of darkness
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| Cry out of the moon and let its evil rays be my shepherd
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| With heavy drops of blood from your eyelids, 'I let you be' my burden
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| Standing with both your eyeballs in my hands
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| Quickly change channel and ask if you can see what they are broadcasting today
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| I broadcast live from the plateau of hatred
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| My hotel room, which we can call the honeymoon suite, was made just for the two of us
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| Proud, arrogant, mercilessly crushed
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| Lonely and aggressive, tied up in a foggy intoxication
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| Runs around at night and strikes trees with the bare fists
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| To evoke the spirits of the forest and feel my own soul hover
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| With my life in pseudo-ruins and my home in a moving box
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| I take a walk again on Gammel Landevej and have my sins washed away
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| And it adorns with corpses in the cargo
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| If you bare 'make sure that those bitches are so beautiful that the whole world will' take '
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| pictures of them
|
| I have it go’e under the skin and a bad one
|
| Follows my soul through the cold
|
| So I'm never alone when I smile
|
| No more problems - where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| I have it go’e under the skin and a bad one
|
| Follows my soul through the cold
|
| So I'm never alone when I smile
|
| No more problems - where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| I told them, yes, I told them
|
| Where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| I told them, yes, I told them
|
| Where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| I told them, yes, I told them
|
| Who-who-where fuck is my iron pipe?
|
| I told them, yes, I told them
|
| Who-who-where fuck is my iron pipe?
|
| I have it go’e under the skin and a bad one
|
| Follows my soul through the cold
|
| So I'm never alone when I smile
|
| No more problems - where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| I have it go’e under the skin and a bad one
|
| Follows my soul through the cold
|
| So I'm never alone when I smile
|
| No more problems - where the fuck is my iron pipe? |
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…)
|
| (Iron pipes, iron pipes…) |