Desgraceira sonora com o Death Metal dos poloneses do “Decapitated”: “Pest”

It's raining birds. Seagulls, nightingales. They don't sing, they stink. Feathers glow in the dark. Black clouds thicken. Your shutters won't help. No one to answer your prayers. Lord of Flies sends his regards. What doesn't kill you makes you strive for death. What doesn't wound you makes you cut your wrists. Fear not the sickness that harms your body. This one will leave you in perfect shape. This is the virus that kills illusions. Fatal disease that opens the open cage. Be careful what you wish for. Pitiful knowledge junkies. Be careful what you pray for. Your sheep chasing the slaughter. You would have never thrown the dice. If you had learnt the rules before. But once you've started the game. Don't leave the table. Don't go home. Because there is no home. The war is on