Lyric Part 3. Deeper Into The Mud
Deeper into the mud... led by the angel. John Doe is looking around,
delighted and frankly begins to the insane. The computer-brain can t
find such a "feeling" in it s data banks and become alarmed...
Machine:
Outside the breathing space
Like a bunch of metal pushed into my vein
John Doe:
Hasta la vista, oh la-la negras putas, mochos cojones!
It s so beautyful here...
Machine:
Vegetation, out of my files
Weird like death, like rusty metal
The Angel:
How do you feel?
Laa-la-la... you re out of line!
Machine + Choir:
Death? Death?
Machine:
(Hey!)How it s a crime to walk down here
This is not our property, somebody s changing us
The Angel:
No, no, no! It s not true!
Here we are all free, free from your sins!
Machine:
Sure it s all safe?
Reminds me of an overload
Surrounded by chaos
I m just a hunter s prey
The Angel:
Benedictus esto inter peccatores, dominius tecum!
John Doe manages to escape from the circle of the computer-brain,
the body impregnated with despair is slowly getting of its chronic
depression. The Angel watching from aside with a contented smile.
The computer-brain is starting to feel reduction of electric charge
in itself.
Machine:
I can t find my memory
I m short of breath, I only feel!
Files are messed up, hi-tech gone
Wanna get back, this is not fun!
I escape, I am scared
I ll be lost anyway
Comfortable? It s too hot
I am afraid of what is not
Who do you smile, don t like it
Feel to much, I feel sorrow
I should stay pale behind my monitor,
LET ME GO!
The computer-brain runs away trying to escape...
John is somewhere else. Revelling deep pleasure.
Machine:
American dream
You made youself spoiled
I ve been livin in a dream too long
They forced me to pay, but now, here, today
Choir:
YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!
Machine:
Is this way right or wrong?
Should I go... right or left?
It s too hot, faith no more
I feel wet, I will die!
delighted and frankly begins to the insane. The computer-brain can t
find such a "feeling" in it s data banks and become alarmed...
Machine:
Outside the breathing space
Like a bunch of metal pushed into my vein
John Doe:
Hasta la vista, oh la-la negras putas, mochos cojones!
It s so beautyful here...
Machine:
Vegetation, out of my files
Weird like death, like rusty metal
The Angel:
How do you feel?
Laa-la-la... you re out of line!
Machine + Choir:
Death? Death?
Machine:
(Hey!)How it s a crime to walk down here
This is not our property, somebody s changing us
The Angel:
No, no, no! It s not true!
Here we are all free, free from your sins!
Machine:
Sure it s all safe?
Reminds me of an overload
Surrounded by chaos
I m just a hunter s prey
The Angel:
Benedictus esto inter peccatores, dominius tecum!
John Doe manages to escape from the circle of the computer-brain,
the body impregnated with despair is slowly getting of its chronic
depression. The Angel watching from aside with a contented smile.
The computer-brain is starting to feel reduction of electric charge
in itself.
Machine:
I can t find my memory
I m short of breath, I only feel!
Files are messed up, hi-tech gone
Wanna get back, this is not fun!
I escape, I am scared
I ll be lost anyway
Comfortable? It s too hot
I am afraid of what is not
Who do you smile, don t like it
Feel to much, I feel sorrow
I should stay pale behind my monitor,
LET ME GO!
The computer-brain runs away trying to escape...
John is somewhere else. Revelling deep pleasure.
Machine:
American dream
You made youself spoiled
I ve been livin in a dream too long
They forced me to pay, but now, here, today
Choir:
YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!
Machine:
Is this way right or wrong?
Should I go... right or left?
It s too hot, faith no more
I feel wet, I will die!
