Dreadful shapes of the machines Invention of the times when Everything what mechanical Was considered to be magic Thrown away because Of unfullfilled dreams Rotting in pain, turned off And sentenced to death The voice of forgotten machines Is becoming more and more stronger Oiled throngs are still working Machines don't die They wait Koukounaries Now there's silence I can see on its side A big red badge with the writing "Lisseiler praha" Machines don't die They wait Koukounaries Now there's silence Together they sound like The biggest type-writer In the world I can't stand this noise Now there's silence