Too many wasted bombs on others, too many wasted seeds of deceit Too much contrast to boast a helpful word in this world that rewards hate with a suite You could save them for our own mass of morons, pulsating void of ignorance Cloaked men invited from your union, two-faced murderers on a steady boat Too many disappearing motivators looking to pay, dissipate, discard I run the front desk - the hall they incessantly thrive in Hiding away not from the plagues, it's the demons, installing their painTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
