Deeper into the mud... led by the angel. John Doe is looking around, delighted and frankly begins to the insane. The computer-brain can't find such a "feeling" in it's data banks and become alarmed...
Machine: Outside the breathing space Like a bunch of metal pushed into my vein
John Doe: Hasta la vista, oh la-la negras putas, mochos cojones! It's so beautyful here...
Machine: Vegetation, out of my files Weird like death, like rusty metal
The Angel: How do you feel? Laa-la-la... you're out of line!
Machine + Choir: Death? Death?
Machine: (Hey!)How it's a crime to walk down here This is not our property, somebody's changing us
The Angel: No, no, no! It's not true! Here we are all free, free from your sins!
Machine: Sure it's all safe? Reminds me of an overload Surrounded by chaos I'm just a hunter's prey
The Angel: Benedictus esto inter peccatores, dominius tecum!
John Doe manages to escape from the circle of the computer-brain, the body impregnated with despair is slowly getting of its chronic depression. The Angel watching from aside with a contented smile. The computer-brain is starting to feel reduction of electric charge in itself.
Machine: I can't find my memory I'm short of breath, I only feel! Files are messed up, hi-tech gone Wanna get back, this is not fun! I escape, I am scared I'll be lost anyway Comfortable? It's too hot I am afraid of what is not Who do you smile, don't like it Feel to much, I feel sorrow I should stay pale behind my monitor, LET ME GO!
The computer-brain runs away trying to escape... John is somewhere else. Revelling deep pleasure.
Machine: American dream You made youself spoiled I've been livin' in a dream too long They forced me to pay, but now, here, today
Choir: YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!
Machine: Is this way right or wrong? Should I go... right or left? It's too hot, faith no more I feel wet, I will die!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
