Break thru the light, in shinning rain Little part of emptiness in momentary blaze No look beyond tomorrow Products of no need Well packed shinkins In the battle of the screen Procreation of the crap, of the fellows of no mark They're dead before they get alive Passing from dark to dark Want become a crystal shine Step closer to distant sun No matter what way to go Marching army of zeroes in paranormal vertigo Celebration of the cult, of megastores figurines Draff they call as superb vine, paper news as poetry No look under cover Hunting the vision of perfect life Still high on the fiction Still drunk with the scented lie Mean gang of the parasites Emptiness of mental misery Ode to one's perfection Orgasmic tag-rag victory