Из альбома: The Death of True Spirit
Up on top rain falls in a sedative form
Soaking the masses from warm
A means of addiction will be your means of power
Grounded with submission
So we won`t seek a truth
Clear the smoke from my eyes
Clean the toxins from my mind
For today try to escape this disease
Which can`t flee
Give us your habits
Medicine our thoughts
Let us play this game
In which we already lost
Set up must fold
Set up kill
Your control falls