recorded & mixed at: 7-14 V 2001 & 24-27 IX 2001 SPAART Studio
engineered by: Jacek Młodochowski & THCulture & Dżabi, except track 9 "BPB" remixed by: Luke Sky
produced by: THCulture
published MC & CD by: Boofish Records


Yogi - voice, guitars, djembe, didgeridoo, sample
Joseh - bass
Żurek - drums

Additional musicians:
Greg Crack - voice (BPB)
Luke Sky - piano (BPB)


i dance in trance all day
let the stream of squandering flow over
in a river with two beds
hhe superficial is the answer to nothing
what’s underground determines the rhythm of questions
do you want to be fulfilled at the end of your life
which has no value apart from funeral expenses
you work for it for years
irrevocable madness, late oblivion
mind open to a bullet hole
a channel of freedom, enslavement device
the universe of the mind won’t stand Earth’s gravity
all you would like is unattainable
all the rest is compulsion, the compulsion of pain
in pleasures weakening the natural feeling of being lost
rescue in the face of inevitable death is living death
you’ve found what you’ve eternally looked for
the eternal and blindly closed road to nowhere
why haven’t you got yourself together
regardless of circumstances of oblivion
impossibilities lead to the necessity
costs of the advantage of body over mind to soul
how deep can this mediocrity reach
the cold of bones taking hold of the body
repulsive... separated...


cri... cri... critical state
fi... fi... finally i die
body, body’s burning me down
there’s nothing else left
one supreme
in four persons
on my deathbed i greet
in every possible form
first has only a face
second only a brain
third only a heart
fourth which yields power has nothing
first is only desire
second devotion
third compassion
fourth which yields power feels nothing
the fourth self which yields power over the elements
has nothing
the fourth self which yields power over the elements
feels nothing


still there are no people
people are sleeping
the whisper of the wind
listen more carefully to 
the green grass
mowed it withers fast
and only until evening
the tree has its shadow
man withers like the grass
man so briefly can look at his shadow
don’t wait any longer
get up, get up and go
freedom is coming
freedom is coming
it comes by every day
every day
don’t wait any more
get up, get up and go
man withers like the grass
man so briefly can look at his shadow,
new day, shadow, sunrise, new day
shadow, shadow, night, starry night
through its artery runs the pulse of the whisper
unknown to anybody
you’ll leave your shells
and listen out
but the voice will remain foreign for you
so you’ll listen and go away
maybe others will succeed it takes all sorts
for now they’re sleeping... sleeping...


people sleep at night it seems that during the day it’s not different
good or bad it’s impossible to say
anyway every time contact is hindered
time flies away from you and you are still chasing and urging it 
you don’t allow it to take a breath, you treat it brutally
and time doesn’t like you, everything is a waste of time for you
you feel like lying in the sun or take a boat trip
or be with a woman but
nothing doing, you can’t get away from work
time always has to stand by you, time has to work
time has to say something, although it’s silent
time loves joy, time loves peace and a comfy mat
you’re wasting your life to earn for time
you’re wasting your life to earn for time
born with all good time between sunrise and sundown
between youth and old age
i really don’t know what I would have to hurry into


society of money dough works wonders
what form of megalomania requires identification mania of you
product or idea
with every moment these days
bigger and bigger desire is born is born bringing misfortune
it’s all we can do more, want more
want more and more much too much
unbelievable and boundless
the only unknown is the price you want to sell themselves for
can’t you see the void of success sterility of achievement
nothingness of human effort
frightened in their enchanted twisted curse
drink blood, eat money
prostitutes of life that can’t pick up only one client
they can’t pick only their selves up only their selves
new man has arms and legs drinks blood eats money
check if you are a fashionably attractive commodity
do not feel... but abuse... dough works wonders


please tell me why
I am still alive
in a black plastic bag
I foster plague
monotony and apathy
a hundred faces on one
whirls and swirls
count on me in the death chamber


war is sheer lunacy in a beautiful morning thousands of people
stand in dug up holes in the ground – what for?
imagination materialises the moment
one hundred thousand killed imagine that
imagine that they stand here opposite each other in rows
one hundred thousand candles blown with one breath
one hundred thousand minds
memories... loves... sensations... worlds... universes...
it doesn’t make me sick or terrified
and the belief
that there’s no justification for this hell
bombs do not kill people it’s people who kill people
when the war comes with its horror and cemeteries
then you’ll realise that you could’ve done something
then you’ll realise...
famine, plague, slaughter their blood waves inside me
I don’t speak to anyone nobody speaks to me


in stony coffins in sarcophagus houses
the silence of your loneliness the silence of your grave
you forget about everything you can deceive thought
word, action, creation, old age, yourself
you are but you don’t know if you exist
you have to be faithful and obedient
bury yourself in a shelter and be blind
you have to become mute and deaf
and solid like never before
in the morning, evening, day and night
you have to carefully repeat the slogans in force
and not to work out different ones
it’s allowed to surrender, it’s allowed not to be different from others
it’s allowed to fake it’s allowed to act against yourself
and be proud that you are such and not other
and that your world is such and not other
terribly peacefully accept the void
i’ll tell you nothing to console you


i foster plague
monotony and apathy

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