Your're dressed in grey for so many years,
Dead like a tool without any need at all,
There's no love to find or to feel for you,
There's no needful change between all their dead machines!

Soon you're dead,
Now you're sick,
Tired for revolution!

Drawing up all this machines that's your job,
That's what they've made you to believe!
Blind and slaved through all these boring years
To keep the wheel of lies turning round!

At the end of the road no days are left!
At the end of your breath all word are said!
It's much too late to throw stones!
It's much too late to change direction!
Never you saw that old rusty knife deep inside your grey bleeding heart,
So deep inside your grey bleeding heart!