one day or ten years
no difference in the wasteland
here even babies smell like death
they don't cry
because they know- no one will come
we are wanderers, we don't need anyone
but every night we can't sleep
we still hear the siren...
we're the kings of this wasteland
without names and without a future
those who wanted to rule the world
and got pennyworth
in the roar of the engines I hear screams
but it's just an illusion of a collapsed world
blood, sand, gun in a hand
there's nowhere to hide from the sun
but I remember - this is my land
I know - this is my land
absorbed sweat, lie and oil
and now rage is burning me inside
the scars of dried-up river
that's all we did
the scars on our hands-
it is an eternal memory
so beware!
there are blood, sand, gun in a hand
and nowhere to hide from the sun
my rage helps me to survive
and the same to everyone here
but I hope I'll see the light someday
in this dead place