Writhen

“To get out of smell of mould, to get back on your feet again – let every
god have his day” – and again the leather is black as i lie on fragments of
glass, more broke than ever – no more ti amo – trying not to hate the guts
we all have – ‘cause i got the guts and i feel the guilt – now we still hate
it when we play the part of the greek – vanhaa suolaa siihen haavaan joka
vuotaa edelleen – and who swore not to let it out in here just to see the
boots rot away in one’s feet – so better ring the bell of whoredom if it
wants to ring, or just forget all perverse offerings – the writhing stays
the same even if you got the guts and you feel the guilt – now we still hate
it when we play the part of the greek – vanhaa suolaa siihen haavaan joka
vuotaa edelleen – minne sattuu ihmiseen – vanhaa suolaa siihen haavaan joka
vuotaa edelleen