| They like to play with fire
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| In a stream of gasoline
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| They like to cut themselves
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| And drown in their own blood
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| Nothing’s sacred to those disgusting leeches
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| They laugh, as we all sink down in agony
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| Bow down before the masters of fatalism
|
| If the thumb goes down, it’s up to them
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| They rule our destiny, so be aware
|
| Their insane laughter makes me freeze
|
| In the last days of the sun
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| They could be called by many names
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| And some of them you know
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| I prefer «the masters of fatalism»
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| 'Cause that is what they are
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| They’re poisonous snakes with twisted tongues
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| They laugh, as we all sink down in misery
|
| Bow down before the masters of fatalism
|
| If the thumb goes down, it’s up to them
|
| They rule our destiny, so be aware
|
| Their insane laughter makes me freeze
|
| In the last days of the sun
|
| As time goes on, they reach the final stage
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| For them, it’s perfection; |
| for us, death and armageddon
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| So kiss all precious things good-bye, and don’t ask why
|
| They laugh, as we all sink down finally
|
| Bow down before the masters of fatalism
|
| If the thumb goes down, it’s up to them
|
| They rule our destiny, so be aware
|
| Their insane laughter makes me freeze
|
| In the last days of the sun |