You stand in front of that bleak mirror
And you should be grateful for your days
Cos though you got no money, job, car, girl and friends
Your health doesn’t totally suck

And so the dwarf underpant seller
Creeped in and stole all of your dreams
And now he shows them like hunting trophies on the shelves
hanging swords above his low head

And now you’ve learned that everyone looks
At his own garden and never give
But as they’re awful farmer they don’t know they might
Be killed by the fruit of bad seeds