I hear every voice, every voice of the trash-truck
I think too much of this stuff
And you breath broken air
Things are not ok at this home
It doesn't take hunger away
It doesn't take thurst away
It kills the sleep
Scratches back
when you fear
when you fear
Small numbers in the video recorder
Oh, all those things, that torture my head
And there is fear of upcoming things in your face
Things are not ok at this home