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Deeper into the mud... led by the angel. John Doe is looking around,
delighted and frankly begins to the insane. The computer-brain can't
find such a "feeling" in it's data banks and become alarmed...

Machine:
Outside the breathing space
Like a bunch of metal pushed into my vein

John Doe:
Hasta la vista, oh la-la negras putas, mochos cojones!
It's so beautyful here...

Machine:
Vegetation, out of my files
Weird like death, like rusty metal

The Angel:
How do you feel?
Laa-la-la... you're out of line!

Machine + Choir:
Death? Death?

Machine:
(Hey!)How it's a crime to walk down here
This is not our property, somebody's changing us

The Angel:
No, no, no! It's not true!
Here we are all free, free from your sins!

Machine:
Sure it's all safe?
Reminds me of an overload
Surrounded by chaos
I'm just a hunter's prey

The Angel:
Benedictus esto inter peccatores, dominius tecum!

John Doe manages to escape from the circle of the computer-brain,
the body impregnated with despair is slowly getting of its chronic
depression. The Angel watching from aside with a contented smile.
The computer-brain is starting to feel reduction of electric charge
in itself.

Machine:
I can't find my memory
I'm short of breath, I only feel!
Files are messed up, hi-tech gone
Wanna get back, this is not fun!
I escape, I am scared
I'll be lost anyway
Comfortable? It's too hot
I am afraid of what is not
Who do you smile, don't like it
Feel to much, I feel sorrow
I should stay pale behind my monitor,
LET ME GO!

The computer-brain runs away trying to escape...
John is somewhere else. Revelling deep pleasure.

Machine:
American dream
You made youself spoiled
I've been livin' in a dream too long
They forced me to pay, but now, here, today

Choir:
YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!

Machine:
Is this way right or wrong?
Should I go... right or left?
It's too hot, faith no more
I feel wet, I will die!

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