Antland

ANTLAND

Waves spit on my memories

and flies lick remains like salt on a cliff

swallowing desolation's wan stains

and skies without any prayin'.

You have generated just this:

eyes which float on cages and black tones,

settlin' on to paltry customs

while humans are going to dance.

Now you're just the king of the silly ones...

crown slips out of your head as if it were snow.

Now you're just the king of the losers

and your sceptre gives in without a lament.

Frenzied worker ants all lined up

bow in front of ghosts and gods,

heavily made-up Golems

smiling from rotating chariots.

But a shadow come in

breaking through the wall of truth

while that fire is eating its flesh

passing through roads and nerves.

Now you're just the king of the foolish ones...

crown slips out of your head as if it were snow.

Well, you're just the king of the wretched

and your sceptrer gives in without a lament.