one day or ten years no difference in the wasteland here even babies smell like death they don't cry because they know- no one will come we are wanderers, we don't need anyone but every night we can't sleep we still hear the siren...
we're the kings of this wasteland without names and without a future those who wanted to rule the world and got pennyworth in the roar of the engines I hear screams but it's just an illusion of a collapsed world
blood, sand, gun in a hand there's nowhere to hide from the sun but I remember - this is my land I know - this is my land absorbed sweat, lie and oil and now rage is burning me inside
the scars of dried-up river that's all we did the scars on our hands- it is an eternal memory so beware!
there are blood, sand, gun in a hand and nowhere to hide from the sun my rage helps me to survive and the same to everyone here but I hope I'll see the light someday in this dead place