Оригинален текст
The eighth God points out so much work
To free tensions already revising
He said everything's fine and it's and hour of resting
And he left for a walk in given space
Who will imagine that the same God upon returning
Will find everthing out of order
And that one more will be unemployed
At that rate annually growing without stopping
For that then who has seen him
Alone in the streets and traffic
He's waiting for somebody patient
One who's calm
And can converse
While so much of this world rotates and rotates
Without being able to stop
And here below some manage us as chess records
I'm not the idiot's class
That allowes you to convince, but i say the truth
And until a blind man can see it
If a lack of occupation
Or excessive solitude
God didn't resist more
And left to another place
Ti would be our perdition
There would not be another remedy more
To adore Michael Jackson
Bill Clinton or Tarzan
It's more difficult to be a king without a crown
Who is a more normal person
Poor God doesn't leave in the magazines
That it's not a model nor an artist or a real family
While so much of this world rotates and rotates
Without being able to stop
And here below some manage us as chess records
I'm not the idiot's class
That allows you to convince, but i say the truth
And until a blind man can see it
