Dreadful shapes of the machines
Invention of the times when
Everything what mechanical
Was considered to be magic

Thrown away because
Of unfullfilled dreams
Rotting in pain, turned off
And sentenced to death

The voice of forgotten machines
Is becoming more and more stronger
Oiled throngs are still working

Machines don't die
They wait
Koukounaries
Now there's silence

I can see on its side
A big red badge with the writing
"Lisseiler praha"

Machines don't die
They wait
Koukounaries
Now there's silence

Together they sound like
The biggest type-writer
In the world
I can't stand this noise
Now there's silence