Wake up in the morning Like a living dead Sucking all their madness Flowing in my head Twisted gods beneath the clouds Promising the key Sale tickets for a land I will never see
Sometimes I burn like a dot in the sun
I can hear their laughter Loud in my ears Counting their money Growing up my fears Playgrounds made of concrete Children eating clay The words have no meaning If you want to stay
I don’t want to swim alone On a river made of milk and honey I don’t want to be a part Of this fucking brotherhood of moneyTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
