制作

出演艺人
Supersister
Supersister
表演者
作曲和作词
Robert Jan Stips
Robert Jan Stips
作曲家
制作和工程
Hans van Oosterhout
Hans van Oosterhout
制作人
Jan Schuurman
Jan Schuurman
录音工程师

歌词

It is not strange to be a psychopath
The world we're living in goes straight to bath
There is a reason to feel so alone
When there's every night a panter on your telephone
It's really hard today to find some truth
There's even acid in your apple juice
I don't think it's too hard to understand
There are people who don't even trust a helping hand
They prefer to drown in water in the drifting sand
Some of them have already cast their dice
They hide in alcohol or Jesus Christ
And others grew completely out of bounds
Now the festival of violence is all around
And the cry of one's despair is no more than a sound
And the cry of one's despair is no more than a sound
It is not strange to get a heart attack
Since we've got nothing like a tail to wag
Why are frustrations keeping up inside
Make the Dr. Jekyll's change into the Mr. Hyde's
So many people feeling hook and eyed
There is no law that makes it justified
You cannot rise against the common herd
'Cause the only thing that counts for them is yellow dirt
It's the fancy price of living in the gruesome world
You took the chance to leave the beaten track
You are unsticked, it's such a strange effect
You're feeling more than just a substitute
So you better not fly too high in your selfish mood
As you know you have been born without a parachute
It is not strange to be a psychopath
The world we're living in goes straight to bath
There is a reason to feel so alone
When there's every night a panther on your telephone
It's really hard today to find some truth
There's even acid in your apple juice
I don't think it's too hard to understand
There are people who don't even trust a helping hand
They prefer to drown in water in the drifting sand
Some of them have already cast their dice
They hide in alcohol or Jesus Christ
And others grew completely out of bounds
Now the festival of violence is all around
And the cry of one's despair is no more than a sound
And the cry of one's despair is no more than a sound
Written by: Robert Jan Stips
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