Closing your eyes you make a parade
Of ulcers on your soul it's your pride
Your harmony with yourself
Is an unprecedented perversion
The collective unconsciousness
Gives birth to ones like you
p**nomechanoids, automatic satisfiers,
Ruining love and life in their basis
p**nomechanoid,
You are a cuspidor for idle feelings spits,
Conveyor packing rotten gifts in an attractive wrapper
p**nomechanoid,
You've trifled away your soul,
Exchanged it for small change and left
On the floor in public John
I feel no more pain and regret
Observing these daily fallings
I have an appointment with irresponsible «self»
X-ray in use - do not enter!
I bring up peaceful indifference in myself
p**nomechanoid,
A cheap winding toy
Who cares what you feel? Come round!
You'll be thrown out as soon as battery exhausts!