1. |
Drama
03:31
|
|||
|
Oh Yes! The end again!
All this ends again!
like in a drama
like in a play
where you step out the door again and again
only your shadow is following you.
Is it proof
of the truth?
The tableau.. I deserted you..
Life is brutal at times!
You're going mad
please, don't get angry babe!
Is it in the lines
you misread?
That I had stabbed you in the head, babe,
thus whistling like this..
|
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2. |
Scene Spanish Horses
05:31
|
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3. |
Nothing
06:18
|
|||
|
The fetish in the case of gold
stops beating.
Soon killers will be killing each other
and me and you
will be nothing.
You said "I've set the whole place up here,
I dance for you.
I even glorify your solitude.."
And I saw you dancing before the pyre
and somehow,
you disappeared..
That's ridiculous!
Nothing!
Nothing!
We are nothing!
Religious figures pace the hall
ringing in vain
for our thinking.
We just lie here by the golden case,
caught
in its shadow.
|
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4. |
Tradition
04:58
|
|||
|
Tradition, oh tradition!
Who woke this creature up?
and pushed this fat carrion
through the ruins up to my door?
Desert sand make my fort!
Will my girl never ask
"roots are deep, you olive tree,
need I sing in a traditional key?"
Slow the swords dance down
those were the days
in the pitch-black of terrible times.
You sit down, you drink,
you stare at my back.
It is an unforgotten blunder
it is silence and unconcern.
All those voices that you hear, girl,
ain't madness nor disease,
it's the ancestors trying to say:
"worship tradition all the way"
Slow the swords dance down
those were the days
in the pitch-black of terrible times.
A woman
she brings news
with many lurid details.
The word that really hits you
in a fetid puff is exhaled
and you keep on
contemplating
the life line on your palm,
while tradition keeps on twirling
like a demon under your gown.
Slow the swords dance down
those were the days
in the pitch-black of terrible times
|
||||
5. |
Good Songs
05:12
|
|||
|
Sparklin' Green Eyes sits in the green sky at dawn,
her heart whistles for much clearness in my words.
What she knew and what she fancied
about herself seems to die
in my arms
A giant moon has gone through the smoke and the flames,
white light has fallen down in every single eye of men.
They all turn into weeping willows
cursed to show their faint hopes
to the ground.
Good songs,
all gone to waste.
The sun rises
in mysterious halos
While morning offers me a crown she declares I'm dead,
Well, the thought of her dying is driving her insane!
through the dings I hear her cursing,
Tarantism once caused her to foam
on the floor
Good songs,
all gone to waste.
The sun rises
in mysterious halos
|
||||
6. |
A Piece of the Mystic
06:21
|
|||
|
You look shocked at the guillotine
they all clap their hands as you appear.
Didn't you adorn your head with lilies
to sell it like a souvenir?
Sandal incenses they are smoking
crowded on the bathroom door,
but the sweat stinks the air up around your body
though you have anointed it with cedar oil
No one is blessed by Maria,
there are no favorites, nor miracles, nor gods
before the blade is down I won't be here
gone back to town walking my dog
I saw you handing a young man something,
heard the jingling of two or three coins.
I'll never be angry with you boy
though I know one of those coins was mine
He is the black-hooded executioner
whose girlfriend once let me know
how you transfixed her with a pendant
and took her on a canoe's floor
No one is blessed by Maria,
there are no favorites, nor miracles, nor gods
before the blade is down I won't be here
gone back to town walking my dog
You look sick as you smile back
at the amputees by the stairs.
They flaunt medals and silver badges
which you have personally plucked out of their hair
But while they want to grab a piece of the mystic,
collectors they hardly look at you.
Didn't you dress yourself up in a tunic
just to be a guest in their drawing room?
|
||||
7. |
The Chaffinch
05:45
|
|||
|
Who are you?
Who came before you?
To whom do you offer your progeny
and the sacrality of your heart?
Millenary, It's the oak
it's the mountain..
who do you keep seeking, man,
through celebrations and rites?
Columns of ants
carry away
burnt remains
since the fire season has began
Peasants they run
to a small tree
where a chaffinch
gives the choir a note.
All the claimed and the previous lives,
the grain
ain't sating them.
Yes, we are
a measure down
we won't see the night out, my dear!
It's a sign! It's a sign!
The sky's talkin' to us
through the lightning!
Our soul is still unknown
down we go
like any other thing.
|
||||
8. |
Dead Extras
04:32
|
|||
|
An earthquake marred the country
The seawater flooded over covering everything
The place where I had buried the money
disappeared but it's fixed on a map in my head
The last day on earth of friends and parents
started with a sinister noise, something like a moan.
The prophet had failed in his predictions
his dog, half drowned, was still chained to the back-cloth.
I searched for you through the debris of the houses
and the dead extras stuck in the mud
No bluebird to guide me
A sudden lack of courage banged my heart dead
"something we can't see
it's behind the scene of the sun"
As I walked across this half-conscious territory
I felt I walked on your face,
profane on your beauty
There were things we were not going to see,
it's all behind the scene of the sun
"something we can't see
it's behind the scene of the sun".
|
||||
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