Słoń - Marsz robotów

Four thirty in the morning, the urban body wakes up,
To begin the march of robots - crowds of nameless people,
They go to work, where time is life's thief,
They watch, but they don't see what's happening around them,
It's a morning of the living dead, just like the last one,
Half an hour of news full of political bullshit,
where one pushes the other down the career ladder,
And the whole circus goes on for the people's money,
The grey procession drags on, the morning alarm clock rings again,
Millions of people have fallen into the rhythm of daily monotony,
Millions of people have fallen into the rhythm of the daily monotony,
Here life writes the script, trampling all dreams,
The new bank in the city centre is our European monument,
And next door the homeless people drink, sleep and shit.
A man lives like a slave with a heavy ball by his foot,
A multitude of fucking yaps trample everything in their path,
You don't see it, because it honestly scares me,
Work puts its mark on people's faces,
Shitty pay, life is ugly here for many,
Dirty buses stuffed with cattle,
It's a re`ality that's tightening like a noose around people's necks,
More than half the population drowns their sorrows in percentages,
Be careful not to lose pace, this is simple,
This is a robot march, where the individual doesn't count.

This is a robot march from which there is no turning back,
you'll be trampled by the blind men walking forward,
This is a robot march, they can't think for themselves,
They are cogs in the machine of world industry.

They can't think for themselves, they live in hope without faith,
They dream to wake up the victim system,
Hocus-pocus, lotteries, excise taxes, commissions,
The system is a master at fucking the shoal,
White man, this business is business,
Somebody's making money off you getting hit in the cunt,
Somebody takes the easy way out, and you get used to it,
That if you want something out of life you gotta take it from him,
I'm ashamed to admit you must be selfish,
How can you not be when you earn a thousand three hundred
and your wife makes a thousand, and half of that goes on the bills every month,
How the fuck are you supposed to live without sinning?
You know what it's like to be chased by debt collectors,
And for the fifth year you're just dreaming of a holiday,
Just work and work and work, the fucking monotony,
Just toil and toil and toil, hey, it's no time to die

This is a robot march from which there is no turning back,
you'll die trampled by the blind walking forward,
This is the robot march, they can't think for themselves,
They are cogs in the machine of world industry.

They look but do not see,
They listen, but they don't hear,
They talk, but nothing comes of it,
They are robots whose life is soulless mechanics.

You fucking work six days a week in three shifts,
It's hard to catch your breath, like a fish out of water,
You're a number on a nip, forget your name,
People live in this system like they're unconscious,
Take a deep breath, open your eyes and see up close
These unfulfilled crowds in shitty jobs,
Factories like anthills, workers without names,
They feed on the poisoned milk of the systemic swag,
It's not cinema or cheap Hollywood talk,
Cheap wine, teenage mothers, ubiquitous filth,
Where the hard work you put in isn't reflected in your salary,
And all your potential will be extinguished in perpetual resentment,
The propaganda crowd drives the systemic cogs,
Human hybrids deprived of their own identity,
shackled in chains, slaves behind corporate bars,
Vegetated by a government respirator,


This is a robot march from which there is no turning back,
you'll die trampled by the blind walking forward,
This is the robot march, they can't think for themselves,
They are cogs in the machine of world industry.

They look but do not see,
They listen, but they don't hear,
They talk, but nothing comes of it,
They are robots whose life is soulless mechanics