[music: ]
To the deep thirst we were born bitter
To read the countless lines of chalk
The broken melodies of the piano
The rhythm maps of our bumpy route
Would be the true value of our trade cargo
Traveller The golden sambo of memories
But we cursed our driver's load to cancer
He wanted Unhola to knock his head on the gate
We saddled fairy-tale characters on bloodskin
We created paradise free< br/>To the controls of the parasite
THE CURSED WAYS DO NOT ASK
THE WAY OF THE CURSED REMAINS CROOKED
HORSE SUPPORTERS WITH IRONS ON THEIR NECKS
THE FORM OF THE CARAVAN ON HORSES
IN THE WHIP THE NECKS BEND TO THE KUMARA< br/>DEAD HORSES ARE STILL BEING WHIPPED
But one day the procession will take cover
and a ray of light will set my neck ablaze
One day ivänä The iron chain becomes brittle

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN