Текст песни Postsense - Аргумент

Private trash from the show is a reality,
Artificial love from television series,
A soft sofa and you're in their paws
Slowly stabbing a nail in the head.

They make fun of you,
You are in their hands,
And who doesn't believe the facts -
That's the argument to the temple.

Compress ideas of the format condition;
Pour water, grasp the blade and cotton wool.
You know only what they let you know;
Lie down, scratch your butt and don't think too much.

They make fun of you,
You are in their hands,
And who doesn't believe the facts -
That's the argument to the temple.

You can't believe it
And hope for mysticism ...
What is he talking about
Sad statistics?

Not knowing how to act
And how to behave -
This means:
Agree with everyone.