Tracks

01. L'Hymne A La Joie
02. Cosa Nostra Klub
03. The Martialist
04. Total Eclipse Of Dead Europa
05. Vote For Winners
06. Die Holzhammermethode
07. Dinner Is Ready
08. The Doomsday
09. Inexorable Parade



01. L'Hymne A La Joie

It's snippet from Ludwig van Beethoven's IX symphony, with added guitars and drums.


02. Cosa Nostra Klub

We are poor homeless nobodies
Fallen idols wannabees
Streetfighting alcohol and narcotics
Too old to be your next one-shot rockstar kid
Yet too bored to care about all that shit
Still, the gun is loaded, don't be self-assured

One bullet for each of us
Black tux, everybody hates us
Middle finger on the trigger
Get in the klub, motherfucker

Did you get arrested in Geneva?
Spread chaos in Venezia?
Have you been drinking with the Polish Mafia?
Or talking shit to Vegas' police?

Get in the klub, we're fucking invisible!
Get in the klub, we're fucking invincible!

We are poor homeless nobodies
Fallen idols wannabees
Streetfighting alcohol and narcotics

Too old to care, too bored to care


03. The Martialist

I belong to the police of truth
Here to shape the spirit of the youth
I believe in the strength of Art,
Of mass media culture took to heart
I fight from freedom of speech
For everyone except fascist pigs
I commend tolerance and respect,
Apart from ideas I reject

Martialist!
All hail, martialist!

Inspect, suspect, correct, infect

Sheep believe they are some rebels,
buying ideals to my cartels
I have built some formatting schools
To rewrite history, teach the rules
I make people hate their fellows
I divide, I soil, I stain
I am Satan drinking Champagne


04. Total Eclipse Of Dead Europa

Can you hear it.
It's not a war they said
Can you smell it?
It's just a change instead

Do you feel peaucier?
With your very mundane hate
You feel concerned about safety
But the plague is set to desecrate

Oh, Total Eclipe, came for Our Sun
He's dead our Son
(he's dead)

Oh, Total Eclipse, end of the run
Dead Europa
(you're dead)

You think God's a square
No religion they said
Trying to hide the scare
Of what's coming ahead

Can't you feel it in the air?
It is freedom they said
And you are too dead to care
About this final spread


05. Vote For Winners

Vote CNK, enjoy your stay
Vote CNK, have a safe day
Vote CNK, on High Holy Day
Trust CNK, and Show the way
Vote CNK, Cheers Cabernet
Praise CNK, it's the great washing day
Believe CNK, stronger than
CIA, NRA, DNA, KKK, JFK

Democracy, all values obscene
God bless the system
Feeding the serpent, dressing him to fight
To spit, to destroy, to vote
Day after day, against itself

Winners, winners
Improve your life and vote for winners
You'd better have to vote for us

Put your fucking hands in the air for us people!
Do you want everybody else to loose?
Do you want colour movies to be banned?
Do you want big red cars?
Come on people, will you vote for CNK?

Democracy, all values obscene
God bless the system
Feeding the serpent, dressing him to fight
To spit, to destroy, to vote
Day after day, for CNK
Cosa Nostra Klub fucks the yellow sub


06. Die Holzhammermethode

Tugendhaft sind meine Töchter
Sie sind schön, sie sind blond
Ihre Haare sind geflochten
Für sie bien ich ein guter Vater
Ein gesunder, tapferer, starker Mann,
Der früh am Morgen Holz hackt
Als ich nach Hause komme,
ist das Heim nett und häuslich
Weil meine Frau eine Gute "Janséniste" ist
Im Dorf gibt's viele Neider

Gegen den grauen Alltag,
Gibt's nur die Holzhammermethode
Gegen die Eifersucht,
Gibt's nur die Holzhammermethode
Gegen die Lauheit,
Gibt's nur die Holzhammermethode

Betthasen sind meine Töchter
Sie sind vulgär und ungepflecht
Nach Heu riechen ihre Haare
Fett ist meine Frau und mit
Dem Milchmann fickt Sie
Ich Spiele zu oft Poker und verliere
Dar übrige Geld der Familie trink' ich
Ich werde zum Dorfgespött

Meine Töchter werden gezüchtigt
Schon weiss ich wie, schon was ich wie
Das Weib wird mich nie mehr betrügen
Schon was ich wie, schon was ich wie
Die Bauerntrottel werden aufhören,
Hämisch zu lachen
Schon was ich wie


07. Dinner Is Ready

Flesh is good, meat is good, smells good
And plumps when you cook it
Meat makes you glad you're at the top
Of the food chain
So you can enjoy it

Brothers and sisters
Eat them fuckin all, wild horses or Irish babies
Manbeef, leather, fur, taxidermy
There are dogs on the dancefloor
Shooting practice plus nightclubbing
Such an exciting family activity

The dinner is ready
Eat me, eat me, meat, meat, meat
If you're 666, I'm goddamn free
Come on fakers, dinner is fuckin ready

The dinner is ready
Eat me, eat me, meat, meat, meat
If you're 666, I'm goddamn free
Charlton Heston, Soylent Green

If you're 666, I'm goddamn free
If you're 666, I shoot the baby


08. The Doomsday

We are sailing by dead reckoning
The vessel's glowing in the polar dark
We are sailing on the inverted Noah's Ark
And do not feel like overdoing
We've been around for a long long time
Now everything's turning into sublime
We can lose, but your world cannot win
No barbarian shall ever outlive our final spin

Judgment day
Your North already lost the Pole
Судный день - The Doomsday
After us your heavens can fall

We are sailing to the Pole Zero
No focal point nor locked target
One thousand megatons on board
Ready to take off the Sun

We'll make your wars all obsoletes
Whatever the point of impact
Whatever all, as a matter of fact
All of your cities are in sight

Collectivist Judgement Day
Your North already lost the Pole
Судный день - The Doomsday
After us your heavens can fall

Sakharov miracle play
Ice field's turning into black hole
Судный день - The Doomsday
After us your heavens can fall


09. Inexorable Parade

Here it comes the inexorable parade
The vortex machine, unwholesome
Cannot stop the retentless march
Of the inexpressible crusher god

The land is desolate, empty,
And full of people
Nobody knows why they stand here,
Eyes wide shut
Nobody believes in the book of revelation
But the machine is here,
As the sword of judgement

White horizon is overcast by the evil gears
Steamroller crushing eternally
All what is standing here
You'd better run but you cannot escape
It has got no reason at all, apart from scrape

The inexorable machine
The machine of God
Europa, dead and gone
Procession of the beaten ones