Текст Have A Nice Life – Waiting For Black Metal Records To Come In The Mail

What has become of all of us, all ceilings, all skies
Is that, the stars can swim a thousand dark miles
Before they ever see the floor again

With their backs against the wall on these last days

You drop that pitch-black pall
Over us, one and all, again
To propel your national machines
Giving us all the disease, but not the vaccine

A thousand tiny lives
Disappear into the black stretch
I guess I thought I’d feel something but I didn’t
But I didn’t, yes, that’s a myth

With their backs against the wall on these last days
But then, we knew that would happen anyway

You drop that pitch-black pall
Over us, one and all, again
To propel your national machines
Giving us all the disease, but not the vaccine

I would give anything
For a cool glass of water
Without this poisonous oil

No
It’s never going to be good enough
There’s no air anywhere
It’s all money now
Wouldn’t you do the same?