Yeah? I'm drawing, doodling, doing random s**t with a pen on this paper
The paper just happens to be a page of my Swedish school book
And I'm drawing random stuff, random men, random fighting scenes
My mind is violent and my pen is the deliverer of violence
I am putting the war into ink and the ink is putting the battles on the page
Words upon words and swords inside screaming men
We've lost, they've won, they shout, we scream

It's a war on paper about some random fight between poor guys and rich guys
It's lame, it's boring, it's just what I randomly draw and it's no big deal
It's just ink of paper, words upon words and swords inside screaming men
It's deep, it's profound, it's dull and it's immature and it's ugly
Because I can't draw, I can only ruin perfect white paper with ugly blue and black ink
I can't do much and this is the quintessence of my not-doing-much
It's just that, just that, just that and nothing more

Nothing more.