The web, made of honey,
With a goal and purpose that will leave you gasping.
We advertise the country like it’s heaven on earth,
We speculate without measure, the land of waste and excess.
They come, they come looking for a better life,
Thinking they’ll find wealth, maybe taste caviar;
Little do they know the law serves only a select few.
Go tell them that the place they came to is probably worse,
Get it through their heads that they’re spending the rest of their lives in debt,
People who came here for a better future,
But will instead die not having saved up anything.
House rent chokes the tenant,
It grabs you by the throat and squeezes your lungs.
We tell you that there’s work for everyone,
We lie and tell you that there is a role for you in this state;
Then, you realise the pay is a shameful atrocity,
You analyse the fact that the rich have caused a catastrophe,
That the system is a complete fuck-up.
Basically, this is all just decoration,
Another lie in the land of serenity,
Bought and paid for with wallets fattened by corruption,
Inputted in our minds by thieves.
Slowly, slowly, as time passes by,
We are walking towards saturation –
We are walking towards a coronation.
We are already subjects of certain families,
The owners of Malta; as far as I know,
We voted for politicians and ministers
To represent you and me,
Not so they can profiteer and make liri [old Maltese currency).
Malta, the web made of honey.
Sure, make your way here, that’s a great idea…