Poor old man put the bottle in your pocket
from the other side sang some youngsters of the brightness that life is
too smart to cry, too clever to die
being proud for their brood, being proud for their style
some icecold brain works on deathcalculation
don't say any prayer, take a gun, save your nation
knock, knock, knock, knock, knocking on doors
and no one opens and I know all the heretics will go up in flames
I got a lot of tears for you
I got a lot of tears for you
for you too
Primitiveness rules I can't see any way out
all movement is still and I cannot shoot louder
times lazes away, time is going over
I cannot unload and there's a cold, cold, cold fear
every paralyzed moment of life is a deathblow
too feared to get into, too scared of find out
I've never slandered a friend or a dream, yet
so who wants to blame me, so who wants to die