Lag og texti: Valgarđur Guđjónsson

It’s a gift, but sometimes it’s off the road and
like a drug, abused too often, and in sane, brains.

Like a lifeline, it enters a troubled frame.
A lonely thought, taking command in deranged, brains.

What a waste, using that gift to kill
and destroy, with every thought and every vein, and brains.

There is no time to lose
All over the news.

First a long-shot straight from the underground,
full of hope, closing in on blown up trains, and brains.

Now a break, then back to the scene again
it’s all live, covering death, and some remains, of brains.

Just a thought, flicks in the background, then,
as it dies, it withers away, there’s no more pain, or brains.