Revolver
Miscellaneous
Wasteland
Mother, if your God wants me dead,
tell me why this doesn't end soon and well,
instead of chaining me to this desert
to fall equally, but more slowly,
from hunger and thirst.
Who will be the first to give up
to occupy his place like a lamb ?
Who will be the one to destroy the slaughterhouse
so that I will never see it work again?
Tell me, mother, who should I ask.
How are my children going to grow up?
From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.
From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.
From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.
br/>I know I have to escape from this hole,
even if I have no choice but to sell
from the innermost part of my bones
to a braid made with strips of my skin.
Because here there is no longer the right to breathe!
Tell me, am I not a man too?
From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.
From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.
You said that faith moves mountains and the sea.
You also said that I must believe in something.
And if I believe something, it is that God never passed through here:
through this wasteland, dry, broken and gray.
You told me that God is in everywhere,
from the desert wolf to a piece of bread.
And if I believe something, it is that God never passed through here:
through this wasteland, dry, broken and gray.
br/>From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.
From the line down
we are just beetles under one foot.

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