Bitlo.ru - asd

(Verse 1) On the old charts, the BSM name shone bright, A beacon of trust through the storm and the gale. The Captain’s word carried the weight and the right, And the crew was ready to weather and sail. We were a family, not lines on a sheet, A soul in the engine, a fire in our names… But a cloud drifted in from the Ganges’ heat, And smothered the light of our noble flames. (Chorus) Oh, Bull Shit Management — trapped in the void, Where paper and shadows have replaced the piers. The Indian office has built and destroyed, Crushing the spirit we gathered for years. The mechanics of soul are replaced by a code, As the vessel groans under a hollower load. (Verse 2) Now a clerk in an office, a thousand miles out, Is pinching the pennies on the food that we eat. The Messboy looks down with a grimace of doubt, At the rotten supplies and the gray, tasteless meat. "Pending," "Awaiting," "Processing," "Soon" — Their words are a convoy of invisible chains. We pray for relief by the light of the moon, But the office is deaf to our hunger and pains. (Verse 3) From Captain to Cadet — exhaustion takes hold, We’re prisoners of numbers in the vast, open blue. The care that we knew has grown silent and cold, Just dust on the folders they’re cycling through. We try to resist, to break through the walls, But the virus of systems is stronger than steel. The "Bull Shit" prevails in their corridors and halls, While we lose the pride that we used to feel. (Bridge) Six months on the water… now eight have gone by… Our tickets were burned in bureaucratic fire. Humanity’s dead under a digital sky, Just cogs in a game of a mindless empire. (Outro) Farewell, BSM, that we once held so dear, You’re a ghost in the wires of an Indian net. A crew with no home, living only in fear, With "Bull Shit" stamped on every sail that is set.