The image
of someone who knows he is a winner
of a two-stroke race
on the way to the slaughterhouse
brief exposure
snapshot
glass cage
/>instrumental death
not to return
cold, cold, cold
cold, cold,
Sometimes I am x2
On the starting line
We were screaming with laughter
with honey on our lips
and our mouths full of kisses
we couldn't take it anymore
we were limping on one foot
and I didn't say any words
(sometimes I am)
(sometimes I am)
(sometimes I am)
(sometimes I am)
(sometimes I am)
enough to continue
and be here
for no one
sometimes I am x 3
they usually turn their back on me
but it doesn't scare me anymore
they usually turn their back on me
but it doesn't scare me anymore

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