And now comes the hour, hour of Satan's power,
We have got a deep coldest dark.
Fate is gauge for cover, the rest is a sour,
Everything else is pest and plague.
Nerves are out of action, thoughts without protection.
There are pointless words in my head.
Brothel has no passion, girl have no reaction
Then the expectation's half-dead.
Spheres of our life were torn to pieces.
The fat guts is the causes of the sickness.
Number of nailed neophytes increases,
Except you are not among them.
Don't cross the line,
It's a hard choice of your mind,
If you are alone and they're in other zones.
Don't cross the line,
You are saint man with a spine.
Won't you be like those who fear steels and stones?
Flesh machines afloat on a radar road,
Play in really meaningless game.
True joy of banknote, hunger in each note.
Even our songs aren't the same.
The gray talent faces each time in all races,
Whole world is illusory file.
Out of the dark places, fighting in play spaces
It's no longer our special style.
Spheres of our life were torn to pieces.
The fat guts are causes of the sickness.
Number of nailed neophytes increases,
Except you are not among them.
Don't cross the line,
It's a hard choice of your mind
If you are alone and they're in other zones.
Don't cross the line,
You are saint man with a spine.
Won't you be like those who fear steels and stones?
Don't cross the line,
It's a hard choice of your mind
If you are alone...
Don't cross the line,
It's a hard choice of your mind
If you are alone and they're in other zones.
Don't cross the line,
You are saint man with a spine.
Won't you be like those who fear steels and stones?