There Is Merit In Surviving

It feels like it was ages ago.it was not.

I can still remember all those metal animals.

Those called bringers of progress

Which were created to settle down the bases of todays comfort

Which were the cause of pride and vanity.

Then came the day, wood turned into reflecting surfaces, windshield wippers,

And oil stations with golden anunciatior panels

But where's the need?where's the fucking necessity?

It looks like we still don't have the right to the word.

The ancient times in wich we were owners of ourselves

Sound like fables, no one will give a damn in less than a year.

The gears of a mechanism that is waiting to feed

Its innermost part with the reminder

Tunnels were dug for us.

Torches illuminate the shadows under the surface

And its just there, far away from plastic influence,

Where we still feel we're a part from earth

Exiled from our concience