Floating minds connect in the yards once again and they say "he's not going to make it" Open up the bottle look inside and see your life A line of soldiers in your nose fighting a battle of ignorance They say they're so sorry, that this won't happen again Some kind of cleansing so vicious, baking in an oven Restraints nailed into your wrists but they aren't forcing anything Chants fronted from your precursor, stapled into the mouths of all these fools Fabricated like the cross you wear on your chestTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
