Sounds from the rambling and mumbling Of minds, to the outer fringes of life With open hands we embrace grace But we stumble in the race We hit the hard side, but we won't break In joy we leap in the lake The lake of the worlds
Bills fly's Fortunes hoovers Like a baby looking unto her mother We stir and stare But yet fortune dews never fall We dine with chicken feeds That hardly feeds chickens
If fortunes avoid our path Let death hoover like a bat With open hands we will pat its back But its counterpart draws it back Death its you we call not debt We are bretherns, worldly not Yet shall experience heavens wrath Where do we go from here Heaven or hell?
We are the brave traitor The land that bred us, we desecrate On the blade of our swords Readily going for tour not to heavens gate But to the forgone part of the worlds Because debt wish us death not