(Heavy 808 bass drops, dark atmospheric synth pads swell, a faint, distorted voice whispers)

(ooooouhh)

(Confident, rhythmic flow over crisp trap drums)

This is my Robinsonade, I'll count the chances

That I can do it all, I am my own Amundsen and Nansen

I want to leave something that will immortalize us

Before a slab crushes me on a burial mound

So, greetings to all, fair winds

Icarus will be taken away by Icarus. For every mishap

I only laugh carefree (Ha)

This is our life – a continuous flow without rewinds or pauses

Changing time over distance,

I traded a crimson sunset for a lilac dawn,

And somewhere there, warming his hands by a stranger's hearth (Warming),

A Bremen town musician, from the word burden,

Will understand me, vagrants of numerous crossroads,

We are definitely not among those canonized as saints.

We are the letters scratched on a frozen windowpane,

We are the froth of days, forever temporary residents,

With no destination on crumpled tickets,

Shielding from the rain with a hand, light a cigarette from a Cricket,

And, according to the classics, walk off into the sunset,

For our lives fit inside our backpacks.

(Melodic, auto-tuned, and hypnotic vocals)

As dots on a gray field

Where no other colors are

We played our parts

Trapped in the cities' grip

Kilometers, cubic meters

What here measures the volume?

Of that freedom, which we are deprived of

Together, locked in a cage

(Confident, rhythmic flow over crisp trap drums)

This is my Robinsonade. Let's count the chances

That I'll make it, for I am both Amundsen and Nansen

And better the dust of roads, another people, a foreign threshold

Than this dull existence behind a free ticket counter

Jedem das seine, the designer of my own thoughts

My views are formed by the lower classes

A tempting morsel for inner torments

I stepped outside the role that was imposed on me

Though we tried, the talent wasn't drowned

For somewhere deep inside, this perpetuum mobile is huffing

And we sail on a pathetic boat without a rudder and with sails

Described quite accurately, though slightly exaggerated

Time moves forward, under the moans of the wretched

The old believers opened their mouths in vain

For even this existence was lent to me by someone (Lent to me)

We are guests everywhere, and nowhere are we hosts

(Music swells back to full power, vocals are intense and layered)

As dots on a gray field

Where no other colors are

We played our parts

Trapped in the cities' grip

Kilometers, cubic meters

What here measures the volume?

Of that freedom, which we are deprived of

Together, locked in a cage