29 Mile Wind
All the people that I know have gotten strange,
they wear the faces of the horse, they see through eyes as black as tar, they stare at nothing but the sun,
they digest nothing but the rain, they wash their backs off with the wind,
they read about nothing more than pain.
And they're vicious and they're strict, and their stomach's always fed. And they are killers, and they are killers,
and they are killers, and they are killed.
And they piss and they shriek as they tie them to the trees. And they are killers, and they are killed, and they are killers, and they are me.
Vento de 29 Milhas
Todas as pessoas que eu conheço ficaram estranhas,
elas usam as caras de um cavalo, veem através de olhos tão pretos quanto piche,
encaram nada além do sol,
digerem nada além da chuva,
se lavam com o vento,
leem sobre nada além da dor.
E são cruéis e são rígidos, e seus estômagos estão sempre cheios.
E eles são assassinos, e eles são assassinos,
e eles são assassinos, e eles são mortos.
E eles mijam e gritam enquanto os amarram nas árvores.
E eles são assassinos, e eles são mortos,
e eles são assassinos, e eles são eu.