Every morning I wake up to hate each [bad word] day.
Every noon I leave my work to get a $9,99 business lunch.
Every night I walk through the same door [bad word] across the same menfolk.

Like a lost sheep in its self maze
Searching for an exit but return to this place.
Drowning my sorrows,
I multiply them by haunting thoughts:
"Streets [bad word] fields of wheat
The black one croaks, the scarecrow sleeps,
And daily problems we've been solving
Seem so faint as there is nothing...left!"

"Concrete castles discolored walls
Lying in remains of monolit blocks
The towers, dark from the smoke
(This is what to be left)
This is what to be left when we're all gone!"

"There is nothing left in this world
That is worth [bad word] for!"

"Tired of life, tired for ages
We hope to find a place, where we could embrace the angels
No matter that the heaven's for the purest souls,
Tycoons would get some space for their shopping malls."

My heart is drowned in a new wheep
And smoke flavored with cold mint
dismissing thoughts I'm wiping lips
"-Barman, here are the tips."