1. The Solo Mission
The soloists were lolely send, sent to slash all the wrists.
The soloists were solely sent, writhing in pain from illusion.
Let this illusion be the intrusion made against the patraich.
In all the mindless and senseless devotion, across the miles, across
the ocean.
I stand to question all your rhetoric, I stand against production of
the prehistoric,
You never understand what you are screaming about!
Change the variable to fit the expression, yet how does it feel?
These thoughts are poison, nothing but this world a choise between
stale lies and stale answers.
So we twist and turn to not forget what we learned in dirty old london.
We refuse to be fed what stuck in the heads here in Gislaved and what
to do with the souls stole from the holes in Soligen?