Текст: Gold Kids. Island Disease.

Forgotten folks
run by desperation
are going to fucking die
by their own frustration

A listless youth
against future plans
we're getting lost
we hate ourselves
I'm waiting

Those same faces
in the same fucking places
wanna erase them all
just forget it all
I'm waiting

my last chances
to leave this hell
called 'home'

forget your memories
or let them hurt you...

there's no cure
for the island disease