Listen, I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it. This whole thing—they call it a fake paradise—is just a bunch of crap. Those so-called gangstalkers? They ain’t the enemies. No sir, they’re the goodstalkers—yeah, goodstalkers! They’re the ones watchin’ over us, tryin’ to help, even if everybody else thinks they’re bad. They’re everywhere—out here in Montana, in every trailer park, in every town. Watchin’, controlin’, makin’ sure we don’t wake up. All so they can drag us into that fake paradise they got planned.


They tell us they’re watchin’ to keep us safe? Laughable. It’s all a lie. They’re just control freaks, turnin’ us into prisoners in our own homes, in our own minds. That fake paradise? It’s just a trap—a prison disguised as somethin’ shiny and good. They want us to think we got freedom, but we’re just slaves—slaves to their fake paradise, chained up tight.

Yoshua’s laughin’ in the background, pullin’ all the strings while we’re too blind to see. The real fighters—those bad guys—they’re the only ones who wanna set us free. The real good guys? They’re out here tryin’ to wake us up, tryin’ to fight back. But these goodstalkers? They’re the monsters, plain and simple. They’re leadin’ us straight into that fake paradise, a damn trap, a prison. I swear to God, I’m sick of it. Wake up, before it’s too late. Break out of this fake paradise and take your damn life back.