Dancehouse Flair
By Frank Peter Hermsen

Oh, I hate these crippled minds

Too sweet to think, dumb and blind

Filled with yuppie-dreams

Swimming with the stream

Sex, drugs, dancehouse-flair

A bitter taste in the air

Better than the rest

You are the best

Styled to death, ice in the air

Have a taste of dancehouse-flair

We do not think, we do not care

Let´s have a taste

Of dancehouse-flair

I´d like to make you disappear

I´d like to teach you how to fear

Yes there´s more than bugs

Money, sex and drugs

I meet you when I walk around

Over bloody rich-man´s grounds

On every scene

Now in my dreams

Styled to death....

Maybe you will rule this land

With just a single hand

But this shiny world you want to rent

Will be built on sand

I´ve tried to find

Nice words for you

But this hate-song

Was all I could do

´Cause you´re

Styled to death...