| Vain inside, and forced to lie, on the edge of the world, now you stand so
|
| proud and grow*
|
| The sensation of the fortune on you, won’t help you to grow stronger,
|
| but to grow all your wealth, not your heart
|
| So hate me when you want
|
| Join with the spite of luck
|
| Thus do I die and gather day by day your own greed lies
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| You spent time to get rich
|
| You spent your life alone
|
| Thus do I die and gather day by day your own greed lies
|
| I’m filling my moods with my rage for your overwhelming wins
|
| You have all, you’ve always won
|
| So are you to my thoughts
|
| As flies swallow in mud
|
| You win the ticket, the million dollar you love
|
| You’d hate me now
|
| My hands won’t hold up your ass
|
| Breed in greed, and lie again, 'till the end of your world, 'till the soil
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| brings up your corpse
|
| in the end of time, you will rise, facing a world you’ll never know,
|
| 'cause you’re dead to my eyes, a waste of time
|
| I know that you’ve got friends
|
| But they stab in your back
|
| You’ll realize this when you’ll lie down dead on your rich ground
|
| I’ve asked your help sometimes,
|
| You turned your back with lies,
|
| But all you’ve wanted was to keep your treasures safe from men
|
| I’m filling my moods with my rage for your overwhelming wins
|
| you have all, you’ve always won
|
| I’m the only you closed out at the door of your life… you forget me
|
| So are you to my thoughts
|
| As flies wallow in mud
|
| You win the ticket, the million dollars you love
|
| You’d hate me now
|
| My hands won’t hold up your ass
|
| Please drink from
|
| my potion
|
| I’ll help you, my dear
|
| This potion
|
| Will stick you
|
| Then you will be free
|
| Oh, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
|
| The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
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| That did not better provide…
|
| I’ll pity you then, dear friend,
|
| My pity is enough to cure you
|
| Please drink from
|
| my potion
|
| I’ll help you, my dear
|
| This potion
|
| Will stick you
|
| Then you will be free
|
| Whilst, like a willing patient, you will drink
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| potions of eisel 'gainst your strong infection;
|
| I’ll pity you then, dear friend,
|
| My pity is enough to cure you.
|
| This is for you
|
| Vain inside, and forced to lie, on the edge of the world, now you stand so
|
| proud and grow
|
| the sensation of the fortune on you, won’t help you to grow stronger,
|
| but to grow all your wealth, now you’re dead, buried alive. |