With our wits frozen
we are drifting or a nail in the head
on a rowboat
with one oar, before the storm
We aren't digging gold from the soul now
We won't whisper when it's time to shout
More blood and a new war on top
More blood and more provocation
Who wants and has to and can live
when it's raining dust of the churchyard
Why it is so hard to understand
that silence isn't gold
The opera of poor
In there we arrived, humbly crawling
The lords are singing,
laughing and humping our women
I'm trying to overcome money and evil here
But I will always see; they're misleading the foolish
More shit in the pants, a new war
Shit and more provocation
Who wants and has to and can live
when it's raining dust of the churchyard
Why it is so hard to understand
that silence isn't gold
The teller of truth talks and doesn't care
even if there's hundred deaths of a man
I will leave thousand deaths behind me and take
thousand deaths to halfway