Hear the wild madness of the saw, it saws and stands.
Cut even with the ankles, from the wheat we part.
What do they lack in highness who want and act like that?
What right are these given , to stand above others?
Down in the dirt,
Toppled down.
Stamped trunks,
Violently cut off.
What fuel can this mech run and so when?
What will lies behind, what created your desire?
Drenched in saliva and well lubricated, that chain slides easily?
But its sharp, sharp jaws don't always bite right.
Down in the dirt ,
Toppled down.
Stamped trunks,
Violently cut off.
Like in the sandbox they play, like smaller children I see.
Yelling, squabbling, wrestling like that they lose their way.
But in its hands sharp and wild a weapon is.
As in the guise of truth itself only when.
Down in the dirt,
Toppled down.
Stamped trunks,
Violently cut off.
Down in the dirt,
Toppled down.
Stamped trunks,
Violently cut off.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI