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We are the dreams of modern nationsWe feed on products of a new landTo speak of holocaust and diseaseOur eyes fill up with waterTV, a tireless stripteaseFlesh war, pieces on for boringWe die on a Monday morningAnd I miss the moral of a storyFiles and numbered informationKeep me entertained for millionsI call, Mary when I write youThat way my breathing won't excite youStrangers from different parts of townPass on with their heads bowed downI used to think it was a crimeI still do, now it's mineWe are the dreams of modern nationsWe feed on products of a new landTo speak of holocaust and diseaseOur eyes fill up with water From Letras Mania