I tremble on its ironic jokes.
The wrath of decaying corpse is a grotesque end for a tragic comic play.
We are insignificant men confronting ourselves with a possible after play.
It takes all the meaning from our actions.
It's a fact calling in question our artificial constructions of man's hierarchy.
It's all nothing from the prospective of d**h.
It's everything from the prospective of life.
I'm waiting for d**h to call.
Terrified! Why do we all have to die?
A s**ing parasite since incarnation.
What terrible words an interchange of creation and annihilation.
It's all nothing from the prospective of d**h.
It's everything from the prospective of life.
I'm still waiting for d**h to call.
Terrified! Has she forgotten me?
A day, a year with no sense.
It's a curse of what we wish.
A s**ing parasite since incarnation.
What terrible words an interchange of creation and annihilation.
I'm still waiting for d**h to call.
Terrified! Has she forgotten me?
The wraith of decaying corpse is a grotesque end for a tragic comic play.
We are insignificant men confronting ourselves with a possible after play.
All pa**ed by or pa**ed away.
The world has changed.
What am I still doing here?