It feels like it was ages ago.it was not.
I can still remember all those metal animals.
Those called bringers of progress
Which were created to settle down the bases of todays comfort
Which were the cause of pride and vanity.
Then came the day, wood turned into reflecting surfaces, windshield wippers,
And oil stations with golden anunciatior panels
But where's the need?where's the fucking necessity?
It looks like we still don't have the right to the word.
The ancient times in wich we were owners of ourselves
Sound like fables, no one will give a damn in less than a year.
I can still remember all those metal animals.
Those called bringers of progress
Which were created to settle down the bases of todays comfort
Which were the cause of pride and vanity.
Then came the day, wood turned into reflecting surfaces, windshield wippers,
And oil stations with golden anunciatior panels
But where's the need?where's the fucking necessity?
It looks like we still don't have the right to the word.
The ancient times in wich we were owners of ourselves
Sound like fables, no one will give a damn in less than a year.
The gears of a mechanism that is waiting to feed
Its innermost part with the reminder
Tunnels were dug for us.
Torches illuminate the shadows under the surface
And its just there, far away from plastic influence,
Where we still feel we're a part from earth
Exiled from our concience
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