Waves spit on my memories and flies lick remains like salt on a cliff swallowing desolation's wan stains and skies without any prayin'. You have generated just this: eyes which float on cages and black tones, settlin' on to paltry customs while humans are going to dance. Now you're just the king of the silly ones... crown slips out of your head as if it were snow. Now you're just the king of the losers and your sceptre gives in without a lament. Frenzied worker ants all lined up bow in front of ghosts and gods, heavily made-up Golems smiling from rotating chariots. But a shadow come in breaking through the wall of truth while that fire is eating its flesh passing through roads and nerves. Now you're just the king of the foolish ones... crown slips out of your head as if it were snow. Well, you're just the king of the wretched and your sceptrer gives in without a lament.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
