Текст песни Waiting For Black Metal Records to Come in the Mail

What has become of all of us, all ceilings, all skies Is that, the stars can swim a thousand dark miles Before they ever see the floor again With their backs against the wall on these last days But then, we knew that would happen anyway You drop that pitch-black pall Over us, one and all, again To propel your national machines Giving us all the disease, but not the vaccine A thousand tiny lives Disappear into the black stretch And I guess I thought I'd feel something, but I didn't But I didn't, yes, that's a myth With their backs against the wall on these last days But then, we knew that would happen anyway You drop that pitch-black pall Over us, one and all, again To propel your national machines Giving us all the disease, but not the vaccine I would give anything for a cool glass of water Without this poisonous oil No, it's never gonna be good enough No, it's never (fuck) No! No! There's no air anywhere It's all money now Wouldn't you do the same?