Speedball of thorns running down the slope.
Death Angel above spreading wings’ woe.
It’s no use asking are you friend or foe.
You better get into your body every possible piece of dope.
Forget about reality cause everything is lost. Reduce your personality.
Death of the Real World.
Did you really believe -could you be so naïve- that you could go on free forever?
Did you ever ask yourself about the future, whatsoever?
Here we are now before the gates of acquisition
as we enter at once
the jaws of soul
Subjected with no excuse to the laws of prosecution.
Way deep into the nightmare of this senseless retribution.
Look into this ring.
Watch the whirlpool sing.
Forget about reality: Everything’s just lost. Reduce your personality.
This is Death of the Real World.