in no great haste to change the solemn art that deals with those who cannot render ease in modern terms we make a florid start presenting our regards upon our knees as if our thoughts were villain amputees regarding with some horror how the strain of vision reaching through this veil of rain has no effect on motion nor on rate all in the end must seep into the brain where only losers claim to lead the state
both rich and poor rub shoulders in the mart while finding nothing that could truly please an honest mind or else a yearning heart since all the market has is hopping fleas and some lost objects baking in the breeze there's not a single value to retain and all our hope might just go down the drain as laughing gargoyles seem to contemplate you cannot speak except now to complain where only losers claim to lead the state
no one today would ever give a **** for decent laws or honest high decrees the vultures wait until the wolves depart then each devours the carrion that it sees there's no means left the monster to appease just throw another **** upon the wain since we have read the signal very plain the door is shut and rescue's come too late all that is left is one more ugly stain where only losers claim to lead the state
prince as you look out from the morning train you'll see the same old shadow once again don't think of it as duty nor as fate that's just a path that leads you to more pain where only losers claim to lead the state