Losing money,
losing attention and life,
stuck in the gutters of disaffection.
Nothing else ever and still we'll be missing.
Worn out again.
The future.
Constant gridlock and then a gap shut between the eyes.
The pleasure of the unrest.
You become what you become what you become.
Every thought,
every sound,
every desperate situation strikes you while you try to live
and be upset to walk through the fire.
Hollow again.
Beaten by sameness.
They kill guesses and it gets better and then it gets worse.
The struggle, the armies.
Consumers spectator,
consumers spectator,
consumers spectator.
Strange left turn on the outside.
Is this the sound of Sweden's permanence?
