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Description
Every word I write is like fire.
I get no satisfaction anymore.
Letters in a row, uncompleted.
To enjoy it? Theoretically speaking -
everything's possible.
Maybe it's a phase.
But work pays,
doesn't it? Because that's what they say.
I wouldn't really know,
never seen proof.
Tricking the living crap out of others -
that pays, and does that well.
I don't blame the trickers.
They know what they're doing
and do it well.
But every now and then, you've gotta sell
your soul for a greater goal.
What's a great goal and what is not
is, of course, up to you.
You, the people who take action
or choose not to,
for not taking action pays better.
And to get payed, that is the great goal,
is it not? 'What?
No, no it's not. I'm good!'
You are not good, but rather food
for the ones who should
and know they should be on top of things.
On top of you, raping you,
raping your mind and soul,
or whatever is left of your soul.
If anything.. you wouldn't notice.
Like you wouldn't notice being high,
smoking crack and being on eeeexctassssyy.
Oh, yes, to beeee,
to be high, higher than any bee
has ever been, before or after.
Do you admit it? Your need for it?
Do you deny it? Do YOU condemn it?
Yes, condemn. Easy, isn't it?
I condemn you and you and you - AND YOU!
You freak, you retard, you stain on my silk shirt.
I condemn you for I find it to be right
because you do not deserve to be not condemned
because YOU have not gotten payed enough
to pay me! Yes, pay me.
Fucking pay me, you useless worthless shit!
I piss on your corpse after you die of cancer
or by the hand of some sexual disease.
I throw up on it as you are worth nothing more.
You don't even deserve to be buried.
You should be hanged up on a tree
and left to rot there,
for birds to feed on it
and then fly off while digesting your worthless flesh.
But being the fuck you are,
they'll mostly choke on the damned thing
and drop to their death
because they don't choke fast enough
and just drop for a good period of time
in unimaginable agony and for all that time
they know that they'll die very soon,
knowing it's all over for them.
Are you as smart?
Do you know that it's gonna be all over for you too?
No, you're not as smart.
you only sure, dead sure that you, yourself, will not die.
It's good to think that, right?
It feeeeels good, doesn't it?
Misguideing yourself, how sad. How sad, how sa-a-ad!
But no tears, no tears what so ever.
Nobody will cry for you.
But they'll all follow you to hell.
And yet you exist - for now.
Nobody's happy about that.
If someone acts like he or she is,
that's exactly what it is -
acting their fucking sorry ugly asses off.
And they get payed.
Not by a theatre that goes by any certain name,
but rather a threatre that changes its name from..
exploit, capitalize, defraud, chicane, betray.
Yes, you have been mentally, physically, finanically,
technically, realistically, metaphorically raped! -
by Bunco, the fucking clown.
He's good at poker, I've heard.
Money talks and it tells great tales,
all you have to do is listen
to it whispering secrets
that some would kill for without blinking.
Blink-blink, you sad motherfucker.
Bling-bling, you sad motherfucker?
Wannabes, gonnabes, hasbeens.
Are you ever going to just be?
No, I can see that you cannot see.
Blind-blind, you sad motherfucker?
To achieve this, to achieve that,
think what you're doing
before you go around fucking things up.
Accept the fucking truth, you sad motherfucker.
You're never gonna make it!
You'll die like rat.
Live like a rat, die like a rat.
You'll be stepped on, crushed.
Run over by a car over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over again.
Wink-wink, you sad motherfucker.
I can and -
I do condemn YOU.

Description
Every word I write is like fire.
I get no satisfaction anymore.
Letters in a row, uncompleted.
To enjoy it? Theoretically speaking -
everything's possible.
Maybe it's a phase.
But work pays,
doesn't it? Because that's what they say.
I wouldn't really know,
never seen proof.
Tricking the living crap out of others -
that pays, and does that well.
I don't blame the trickers.
They know what they're doing
and do it well.
But every now and then, you've gotta sell
your soul for a greater goal.
What's a great goal and what is not
is, of course, up to you.
You, the people who take action
or choose not to,
for not taking action pays better.
And to get payed, that is the great goal,
is it not? 'What?
No, no it's not. I'm good!'
You are not good, but rather food
for the ones who should
and know they should be on top of things.
On top of you, raping you,
raping your mind and soul,
or whatever is left of your soul.
If anything.. you wouldn't notice.
Like you wouldn't notice being high,
smoking crack and being on eeeexctassssyy.
Oh, yes, to beeee,
to be high, higher than any bee
has ever been, before or after.
Do you admit it? Your need for it?
Do you deny it? Do YOU condemn it?
Yes, condemn. Easy, isn't it?
I condemn you and you and you - AND YOU!
You freak, you retard, you stain on my silk shirt.
I condemn you for I find it to be right
because you do not deserve to be not condemned
because YOU have not gotten payed enough
to pay me! Yes, pay me.
Fucking pay me, you useless worthless shit!
I piss on your corpse after you die of cancer
or by the hand of some sexual disease.
I throw up on it as you are worth nothing more.
You don't even deserve to be buried.
You should be hanged up on a tree
and left to rot there,
for birds to feed on it
and then fly off while digesting your worthless flesh.
But being the fuck you are,
they'll mostly choke on the damned thing
and drop to their death
because they don't choke fast enough
and just drop for a good period of time
in unimaginable agony and for all that time
they know that they'll die very soon,
knowing it's all over for them.
Are you as smart?
Do you know that it's gonna be all over for you too?
No, you're not as smart.
you only sure, dead sure that you, yourself, will not die.
It's good to think that, right?
It feeeeels good, doesn't it?
Misguideing yourself, how sad. How sad, how sa-a-ad!
But no tears, no tears what so ever.
Nobody will cry for you.
But they'll all follow you to hell.
And yet you exist - for now.
Nobody's happy about that.
If someone acts like he or she is,
that's exactly what it is -
acting their fucking sorry ugly asses off.
And they get payed.
Not by a theatre that goes by any certain name,
but rather a threatre that changes its name from..
exploit, capitalize, defraud, chicane, betray.
Yes, you have been mentally, physically, finanically,
technically, realistically, metaphorically raped! -
by Bunco, the fucking clown.
He's good at poker, I've heard.
Money talks and it tells great tales,
all you have to do is listen
to it whispering secrets
that some would kill for without blinking.
Blink-blink, you sad motherfucker.
Bling-bling, you sad motherfucker?
Wannabes, gonnabes, hasbeens.
Are you ever going to just be?
No, I can see that you cannot see.
Blind-blind, you sad motherfucker?
To achieve this, to achieve that,
think what you're doing
before you go around fucking things up.
Accept the fucking truth, you sad motherfucker.
You're never gonna make it!
You'll die like rat.
Live like a rat, die like a rat.
You'll be stepped on, crushed.
Run over by a car over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over again.
Wink-wink, you sad motherfucker.
I can and -
I do condemn YOU.