Runners with death
Našrot
Psychorama (2003)

The lights slowly turn off and the
Shadows on the wall are long
We huddle and shake in the cold together
Maybe our world is wrong
We are on the drugs together
Cringe away in our holes
Like rats, which see their hunter
Like rats, condemed to death
Something flies up above our heads
And doesn´t wanna disclose the truth
Reality is pressed down in the
Strange, not right, burning grooves...
In the dark the snipers´re waiting
For us, who we differ from...
And tears of whom lies to us always
Are falling down into our wounds
We burned our boats and go nowhere
What will happen in coming days?
If you run a race with death
You have no chance, but you can´t stay...