(Lyrics - Marco Gaminara; Stefan Kutranov Music - Stefan Kutranov)
The thrashers of old are all long gone. The kids of today donít know what the fuckís going on. Can no longer take out your anger in the P.I.T.T. Tempers flair, fist fly, such bullshit. Itís meant to be fun, enjoyed by all. You pick up the guys that tumble and fall. The scene is full of poseurs, dressed up to fit. They have all the records, & listen to jack shit.
Are all your lyrics meaningless & dumb? Do you write what you feel? Or do you write shit? Have you something to say? Or just unable to think? Verbosely going on w/ no real point. We write what we feel, we say what we want. It may offend or piss you off. Too bad! To each his own. P.I.T.T.
You felt like an outsider most of your life. Different to the crowd, they threw you out. You discovered the P.I.T.T. somewhere to relax. Release your tensions w/ others like you. You always go home battered & blue. Your parents donít care, they donít understand. Nothing to prove, you know youíre a man. So dive back in & give it all you can.
After the mosh the bruises are compared. Thoughts & beers are always shared. The next time you meet, you are all still friends. The P.I.T.T. is a place where equality reigns. When the music starts & the band takes the stage. The mosh begins & all take out their rage. The divers are few & far between. Take a spill & see what I mean. Adrenaline gives you its own high. A sharpened edge, on which to live your life.