Tekster:
Dead Snares

to lose our hats And hang out in the breeze I never sleep much I don?t have time to rest my head Worn out my welcome Now the locals want me dead {I should

(J. Cain) When you gave me this song I was so young I would open my mouth The words would just slip off my tongue Then I passed through a world It was

(J. Cain) In the beginning I never questioned it But now I taste something in the water My son I know you?re tired Of wearing that sad disguise So am

lose our hats And hang out in the breeze I never sleep much I don?t have time to rest my head Worn out my welcome Now the locals want me dead {I should

(J. Cain) In the beginning I never questioned it But now I taste something in the water My son I know you?re tired Of wearing that sad disguise So

Rather be dead Than alive by your oppression Rather be dead Than alive by your design Poisoned my fingers Burned out my eyes Cut up my throat To be alive

Oversættelse: Rør. Snarere være døde.

Funftes Kapitel BERTRAM, DER KNECHT Der Spielmann ist der Konig auf dem Puppenthron, der Monarch, ein Regent mit `nem Bettlerlohn. Ja, spielt mit Pfiff

I hate the things you do and i do the things you hate / you?re living in a bubble and it?s gonna fucking burst / you hate the world, at least that?s