We
live on this earth filled with terrible people,
one body of diamonds when nobody's equal.
Our homes, our cells, our cities, the prison,
stolen land by politicians.
Nothing is permanent,
nothing is cold.
You won't be born again,
death is after your soul.
Line them up across the board,
eight by eight under the bishop's sword.
With your palms placed in our squares,
you'll know we're all going to warfare.
Nothing is permanent,
nothing is cold.
You won't be born again,
death is after your soul.
Industry repeats, this always the sequel.
We're the pieces of the gang, inescapable evil.
They want the boss to fight each other and say we're not the same.
Well I say don't hate the player, hate the game.
Nothing is permanent,
nothing is cold.
You won't be born again,
death is after your soul.
Hold your position for heaven's sake.
You can beg,
you can pray,
but nothing will change.
The march won't stop,
so don't watch the clock,
only death gets real.
It all comes back in the box.
It all comes back in the box.
Nothing is permanent,
nothing is cold.
You won't be born again,
death is after your soul.
Nothing is permanent,
nothing is cold.
You won't be born again,
death is after your soul.