The world, the world, the world Is not your friend Your pain gives pleasure And they won't let it end You don't have to beg Just make yourself clear
Tell me what you're feeling Hold you close to me
The world, the world, the world Is not your friend You don't stand alone We do not forget Our burning times past
Men are the scarecrow And women are the crows The field is called pleasure Were the sex-seeds grows God is the farmer He carries a gun He lusts for black feathers That fall from the sun But we all are harpies With a taste for fine things We'll steal all the harvest And give crows better wings