1. |
Clouding The Waters
05:18
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|
Nothing justifies your pseudo
existence, bureaucrat of thinking.
Although you produce, you cloud
the waters to make them
seem so deep.
Committed to avoiding your purpose,
you betray the quest of the truth,
you denature the function of thinking.
Bureaucrat of thinking.
Nobody will talk about the
world any more if all speak
about “thinkers”.
Risking to kill the truth and
to live with dead hearts forever.
The Philosopher.
Bourocrat of the thinking.
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2. |
Eliminate The Suffering
03:40
|
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|
There is no more insane decision:
that's the discipline that has
created the man's elevations.
Chill and tension donated to
the soul in the misery inculcated
by the anger.
Facing the scenario of the
great ruin, the curtains open up to show what will test your courage to support,
to persevere, to understand
and to take advantage from the misfortune.
Suffering, you forge my mind!
Suffering, you forge my being!
Discipline of the great suffer,
You will be my companion!
We are pale reflections of our Creator; Creature and Maker unite
themselves in the Man.
Soul, you claim for Greatness
but you feed with Pain!
And the Man has matter, excess,
and mud.
Misery, meaningless and chaos too.
but also there is a Creator inside him.
An sculptor.
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3. |
Mediocre Man
03:24
|
|||
|
They lack of own light,
their light is stolen.
They don't understand a simply thing:
the merit of the actions is measured by the desire that it costs, not for its results. Mediocre Man!
They ignore the pleasure
to exclaim I am.
They judge as they hear other men
like them judge.
They ignore that without corauge
there is no honor.
A dapted to live in flock,
they long to make a mistake in
those ones that surround them,
absent of personal characteristics.
They ignore the pleasure to
exclaim I am.
They judge as they hear other
men like them judge.
They cross the world hiddenly,
fearful that someone could
reproach them.
The audacity of existing in vain,
never speak always repeat.
"The man is, the shadow seems.
Who wants to seem, desists to be"
|
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4. |
Simulate, Hide
03:52
|
|||
|
Wise Nature, you distill survival
adapting each animal.
You simulate what you won't be able to be,
what you don't have and you will never do.
Do you believe that you're correctly proceeding?
You only show the ruin of your existence.
Wise Nature, you distill survival
adapting each animal.
And, over you, the Man, wolf with lamb... lamb skin,
plays with his own subsistence, attacks and inserts himself,
aberrant fruit, with intellectualoid disguise, exposes his mask.
The Man's violence is his essence among savages, children and fools.
You simulate what you won't be able to be,
what you don't have and you will never do.
Sad aptitude of deceiving for living, depressed spirit,
forged by miseries, degraded idiosyncrasy.
Sad aptitude of deceiving for living, you walk
satisfied along your life, daubed with luxury.
Do you believe that you're correctly proceeding?
You only show the ruin of your existence.
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
Among the debris, the past
pushes for being present.
Yesterday terrorists are now supposed idealists,
and those who fought them,
slaughterers. Hemiplegic memory,
one-sided memory, that only devilises the other one.
In a warfare state, the only rule for a soldier is to survive
and eliminate the enemy by any means. To judge the Codes of War
by the Constitution is ridiculous.
The responsability of the terrorists groupings that devastated the nation
leaving thousand of dead bodies behind them, cannot be ignored.
Single and massive murders, harmed and mutilated people,
intimidating menaces, extorsive kidnappings, selection of victims,
cold analysis of the wanted impressions;
Train, headquarters, police stations and civilian buildings
attacks, any kind of robbering.
Maybe, after the end of this war, better times allow the trees to be
in bloom, but then, I don't know how many men will be
there for watching them.
|
||||
6. |
The Psalm
03:20
|
|||
|
Lucky is the man that walketh not
in the counsel of the wicked,
Nor standeth in the criminal ways,
Nor sitteth in the seat of scoffers:
But his delight is in the law of the peace;
And on his law doth he meditate day and night.
And he shall be like a tree planted
by the streams of water,
That bringeth forth its fruit in its season,
Whose leaf also doth not wither;
The wicked are not so,
But are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.
Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment,
Nor villans in the congregation of the righteous...
Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment,
Nor villans in the congregation of the psalms...
For the peace knoweth
the way of the righteous;
But the short way of
the wicked shall perish.
|
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7. |
Impressions
03:53
|
|||
|
Isolated buried in the depths of discouragement,
I feel unable to make anything but except for
letting my eyes wander numbly.
I am alone, I am really so alone,
that I can not even find myself into my solitude.
How hard the fall has been this time!
Now and then, I am shielding myself
in ephemeral and intangible happiness,
How hard the fall has been this turn!
When I awake, my reality now only perceives
watercolors of rough and lonely landscapes for me.
Each instant I plead not to wake up
another following morning
and, sometimes, I have the feeling
that I won't really be able to
defeat the weariness of the night.
I am a stray beast
in a strange and inconceivable world,
I surrender myself to
the dark wings of Death.
|
||||
8. |
The Numb Voice
05:12
|
|||
|
I look for my agged hands, they´re tied.
I look at my weighty feets, they´re so fucking tied too.
My body is so much impresioned but
The soul, Ah! the soul doesn´t want to feel like that.
I let it go, and it flies towards what
remains of my self, it makes a world with pieces.
Then I look for hands again, they´re still tied.
I look at my feet again, they´re so tied as well.
My body is so much impresioned but
The soul, Ah! the soul doesn´t want to feel like that.
I let it go, and it flies towards what
remains of my self, and then I smile because.
I can still feel alive when I get up,
My dark and numb voice!
I can still feel my soul in the entrails,
in the entrails of the weighty dreams...
|
||||
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