But you will find no treasure chest In a society like wasp's nest. A test of will, a test of faith... How have they called this madness' race? And how did they explained to others That they must now forget theirs brothers, That they must be ‘devoted ones’ And thus become the Working Funs? And thus to spend entire days In office cells - this slavish place, With no time to return to home, With no will not to sign the form? Slow down, friend, you've done your best And thus have earned your rightful rest, It was your last and final test - To learn to do not always best. To learn to choose the things, that's right, To learn to make your person's fight. And trust me, you will not go down, If you at once Will Just Slow Down.

Мы жалкие пешки в руках королей

We are but mere pawns in the hands of kings, We are the mindless spawns, just soul-enslaved beings. No more than the listeners, no more than the followers, No more than self-missed ones … will ever we be over us? We follow those without minds, who claim they have divine rights, As if they are the higher beings, yet they and blind and have no seeing. We could not find the satisfaction unless we do belong to faction, Unless we all are parts of crowd, for only then we feel us stout. And we will fight to our death with those ones who's been claimed as "less", And we will drink theirs bloody tears and name those drinkers as the Heroes.