Om Arbejde


Our deeds of valor echoes in scheisse

The future you have dreamed of already had been raked

Accept that and lye on the snow, motionless

Do not pray, space does not call you, God is deaf

In every environment, spurring oils of industrial cycle

Just let your fucking breath go, drown

Deeper deeper and deeper down

If one does not own the future; all the worries on earth will not alter scheisse!

The greener grass is nothing but a foul, naive nocturnal emission