God has been silent
for two thousand years
in his rocking chair, talking to himself
spending his old days
His dentures clock in his mouth
someone changes the diapers
doesn't remember the weekdays, not
his great creation
Son waits for his heritage
the heaven above
the world is senseless
the lap of the Devil
And it can not be controlled anymore
Anywhere
the game is over, the ball
is lost
Chorus
Dreams die in deep waters
and the world is like the lap of the Devil
the tongues, minds of sadness, lick the wounds
and he world is like the lap of the Devil
Cold lap!
Who believes in inscriptions
manage to live the land
dreams die
in wombs
Or if they get born
they get sadness as their godmother
death strokes head, spits
fire into comfort
Chorus
cold lap