Sleep slower than machine gun

Sleep slower than machine gun
Before the chickens have crowed or cried three times
Like an ancient clay tablet

Repeatedly, the sun and the silver tray wedding party
Under the radiant, flowery, blue sky
Slaves ripped and shared blood and flesh in front of the executioner's table

A cruel spring first to the east, then to the west, now to the south, then to the north

In front of the executioner's table, blood and flesh torn and divided, the slaves are released into the wilderness
They have no bread for tomorrow, they just look up into the void

'It's still okay, it's still okay,' they say

Your voice doesn't reach them

The masses want to avoid dark and stuffy talk
Even if the ground beneath our feet is filled with dead bodies

In front of the executioner's table, blood and flesh were torn and shared, slaves flooded the streets, and they had the bread of tomorrow there is no way

Like angels, criminals flood the streets
The masses are waiting for a world where they can walk down the street at night and have a knife at their throat at every turn
The masses long for such a world from the bottom of their hearts

The masses long to walk the streets at night, to an end where they can be knifed from every corner and end up dead

I need to change my attitude and the way I speak
I'll have to be a different person

From the radiant, flowery, ironic, blue-sky abyss
Repeatedly, the sun and the silver tray wedding party