Song: Tumbler

So screw feeling sorry for myself, worthless, less reflections and more reflections,
When you have set a clear goal, then the empty wanderings become a quest.

And just around the thorns, thorns, thorns... ***s! When stars?!

Ahead, as usual, only without the inseparable and without bosom.

Our Creator whether slammed the ears, whether not really searched.
And we were born in the wrong century, in the cold state, not on the hemisphere.

This is every second, then Roy. The detachment did not notice the loss fighter.

Even further, even longer.
It's not like before. And the ice thinner.
We are smaller. And though it is hard,
Survival of the fittest...