Oh Lord, when I was in my teens,
Metallica told me "Nothing else matters".
Because, Lord, life is forfeit if
It was only filled with my parent's advice.
Often, Lord, I ask myself.
Why mom drowns herself in television,
chewing on ads, swallowing dreams.
Be patient, mom, wait for me on the screen.
And this is my song.
I hope mom's not old before I reach my goal.
Oh Lord, I'm stuck in the indie world.
Taking shirt orders, selling key chains.
Let me be a musician, Lord, a musician,
Not a distro shopkeeper like this.
Oh Lord, I've tried my luck,
Short on cash, I make my recordings,
College, Lord, I've abandoned,
In the name of music and a free life.
And this is my song.
I hope I'm not old before I reach my goal.
Oh Lord, I'm tired of being a musician.
My soul crushed, terrorized by television.
I wonder, Lord, maybe someday,
I'll sell out like Ahmad...
Is it strange, Lord, this anger?
When television debases my thoughts?
Look at that, Lord, Look,
Guess the price of their smiles on-screen?
And this is my song.
I hope I succeed, develop, [ber-cuan]
Slowly, maybe I can live the dream,
On a pilgrimage to the holy land, the promised land.
And this is my song,
I hope to be famous, respected, and rich.