The List کے بول

From nothing, it could not rise After all, somewhere Preying on rumour, feed it proud Fear is born, the list Growing fear, the tanks One hundred and fourty four strong Have been equipped with horns The Mozart's requiem, will be performed What are you waiting for? Copulate, procreate the herds Of half-hump-backed idiots Statistically, someone may survive What is the owner of the list? Am I registered to? No talks, up and down the streets No table-talks indoor The list of enemies Nothing to feed The conversation with But fear still feeds the hate All rivers flowing red Unleashed hell After all the rain will remain