The Gate Number 12
Arssenick
Gallerys! painted with black of death Walls with gosht like hell Silence over the place The evils walks in there. The earth is all over my head The air compress my chest Here is!were the boss send to you to work, to earn your bread. Don`t cry This will be your life Your bread, your son your wife a home, a grave a life All! The mine. Screams,on the walls a tied child, to the door Misery, in their poor homes Makes a father gives his son.