Actually, you don’t really exist, in a state of delusion
Political radical, but blissfully culturally confused son
Spending your capital like every other loser
Fashionably tactical, prattle forgone conclusions
Fearing communalism and any other kind of fusion
Fanatic individualism, like madness, fills your illusions
Frame our socialism like it’s a system of exclusion
Like we want to keep the body after blood transfusion
Like we don’t hate the state, like we want profusion
With the back of my hand I slap your face as a rule man
Just a sham, It’s all talk, your just one of the master’s
tools
On the road to revolution, we don’t have time for fools
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