We are slaped up from the mudd
and our empty eyes are filled up with
sounds of the striking clock.
There is not much left for us
the five fingers on each hand
and it´s not too much
the after taste of clay on the limp
the taste we´ve got used to.

We are just the foot soldiers worked out to death
our way is given but we forgot to tell the course.
No one knows how the sun looks like
everyone forgot about it
we eat the crust of the trees and we are looking for
faces in the muddy waters.

There is no difference between us
we are equal now
we know well the fear
hunger and pain.

We are there were we started from
and no one wants to know why
our heads are hanging down
we have no strenth to lift them up
but never the less
we are trying again.