They offer us the blades 
that tear with pleasure our flesh 
And every strife carves 
their influence on our minds 
We live with this suffering, 
a fall into depression 
The self-mutilation pushes us 
towards the meaning of our beings 

They decrease us all the time until we reach the state of [bad word] 
And every word molest our faces into wounds 
We take all verbal injuries and keep them inside 
The inner rottenness feed the ulcer, bleeding fear 

They die, one after one, 
cause this is all they deserve 
And the smell of powder mixed to their blood 
is intoxicating 
We bear the guns and load the bullets 
blasting their heads 
We're children of Despair 
and priest of negation 

We are them 
We offer your blades and break your minds 
We load your guns nd press the relaxation 
We are them [bad word] your death