The world, the world, the world
Is not your friend
Your pain gives pleasure
And they won't let it end
You don't have to beg
Just make yourself clear
Tell me what you're feeling
Hold you close to me
The world, the world, the world
Is not your friend
You don't stand alone
We do not forget
Our burning times past
Men are the scarecrow
And women are the crows
The field is called pleasure
Were the sex-seeds grows
God is the farmer
He carries a gun
He lusts for black feathers
That fall from the sun
But we all are harpies
With a taste for fine things
We'll steal all the harvest
And give crows better wings