I went to fake-journalist school.
Then I took myself a fake name.
Now I work for a fake paper, writing fake articles.

I was a football-hooligan.
Started riots every game.
Now I am an anarchist. I am a social warrior.

I see fascists everywhere.
I am paid by the government.

I was a junkie and a law-school drop-out.
I applied to “P.I. School”.
I was sent to New York City,
getting paid “selling” merch online.

I have power; I have stealth.. just as long as I toe the line.



One and one, and impaired
to the subready hare.
Three of them found a cure for heavens ache.

The cowards found a book.
They’re quoting Capt. Cook
and are dressin’ up the messin’ up of Newtown.

The window-shopping squad
pretend they can afford.
But there’s a price-tag on their dreams – the stair’s too steep.

The coward took a look and alarmed Capt. Hook.
He was fakin’ up the making-up of Newtown.

Account-door (run by Google translate)

You have opened an account-door,
so you can go inside.
Through the blood – it saves me.
And he held his own.

Going home

You and me chasing dragons;
crossing borders
all day long.

You and me taunting red-heads;
duckin dutchmen all day long.

Going home. We’re on our way home.


Lars Dekan – vår tatuerar-taliban.
Han är med nål och bläck hela bygdens skräck.
Han omger sig med aura av bad-boy-rock-n-roll,
men när det kom till kritan, spela’ inte det nå’n roll.