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Tekst :

This moon was a planet just like the earth, only it is even deader.
The pistols of its flowers are the only protection against insetcs,
which were more preoccupied with the half rotted inhabitants soiled to the brim undet their own garments.
History tells us of their blood flowing down one leg and up the other.
Memories insoluble to their conscience, memories,
outside themselves in a twisted prank played upon them by dogs tired of chasing their food.
Thin oxygen curves their posture substantially.
Flashes of their purpose stripped to skeletal ornaments of meat
and resin from animal marks flciker over the loudscreen.
Machines hum quietly in the distance.
A few naive inhanbitants wander foolishly after sundown in search of black spots,
but no one leaves this moon carefree of memory.
Survivors often match their hands upward towards greater satellites,
wronged in the eyes by a million miles and a million more bodies to sift through.
The smaller creatures have the secret to pinning us down to the dirt:
When they breathe, they inspire, when we breathe, we expire.

Ruling class, we don t need you.
All governments out, don t need no leader.
We had a lot of systems, they all failed.
All warlords have been wrecked by their own wargames.

[Chorus:]
Get up, get up, need no rules.
To degrade...

Hey baby, love the way you walk-
Got a knock-kneed swing goes back and forth.
I could lose myself in the curve of you hips
aching to kiss your sweet lips.
Yeah baby, I love your eyes-
They re sea green but they seem twice as deep.
Like a man...

Put the pedal to the metal let s turn it out
Let s show these motherfuckers what it s all about
Is it all about the pride all about the crowd
Run from a cop never drop on a dime
Put your hands up cause I m clockin dough
Don t never say a...

Your hangover fades and the fog gives way again
... you shun the light, your limbs so heavy
sweet memories of the previous night return
... out on the piss you spent your last money
You´ve had a great time, a good laugh until late

Pętla

Każdego roku i miesiąca i tygodnia i codziennie
W noce i we dnie - wolne i powszednie
Łapiąc przelotną myśl co przez okno
Wpada, by mnie dotknąć swą mocą przewrotną
Po chodnikach chodzą sami bezimienni
Czy chcą unikać tego, czemu zawsze byli wierni?
Choć...