1. |
Scaffold
24:38
|
|||
Day after day and after day, alighting carefully on the garden of this Reality,
the actual reality, trying to cope with the War inside
Sitting, withered, dead within, by the window
Stolid, with no expression, a blank face, a stone
The ways of the Earth. No matter what, no matter how…
Gazing through a wall that once became the window Ι built
brick by brick, pilling up regrets and words untold
This window reflects rain-made rivers on the streets,
like veins and arteries of everything
And I sit behind it, so tired
I cannot taste the rain after all…
Blinding, warm, soft, they say…
And I, behind it,
Falling upon the Wall...
Some muted sounds
can only pass through it,
and I gladly enjoy them,
a strange lullaby in strange forms
Having myself left
My hair, my nails, my mind
A small detour in the night
It happens only in mind,
like a warm memory in the middle of winter
A small detour, like a cobweb on the wall
A small spider draws schemes and shapes
Barely I can walk towards this scaffold
Few stairs and I gasp for air
My lungs are burning. A duty though
However, this view…
Serenity, and I am Calm…
|
||||
2. |
||||
3. |
Shrouds
37:24
|
|||
Breathing sorrow, vomiting hate
Sulfur, bile, pus, blood, and water
The ways of the earth, unbearable and cruel
In shame, in irony, for real
Breathing is useless and blood is clotting behind my eyes
At the other side of the shore, witnessing Nature's mocking…
Slitting my throat, getting rid of my vocal cords
Ripping my veins out of my wrists eating my flesh.
I should extract all the existing Light
So, I can portray Loss, any loss
I should cease all the existing Sound
So, I can speak of Grief, any grief
I should compress all the existing Air
So, I can portray Death, any death
I should throw my own remains away in the most distant grave
Without a name, without clean marbles, without symbols of any god,
without a sad word against any reason, hidden in my cold hand
Who could tell this story of an naeve man who lost his pride?
A pile of shrouds on the chair, speak of hope…
Clean and firm waiting to cover a wreck…
What is left, from the time where, this called life…
I stare at my tomb, just a hole
In this barren land I wear myself out
Empty, hollow, just an open wound
In this wasteland black cloths cover mirrors
I am tired. I know. I know the truth
This hole, soon, I can assure anyone, will pollute the earth.
Like the way it should be
No hyacinths upon my coffin
Nor lilies and oleanders
No mourners will soak the soil in tears
No white cloth upon my face
No drops of wine over my eyes
Now pain will go away
No loved ones walking slowly behind
Now, finally, pain will start
Where even sorrow matters no more
when even hate becomes my spine
Mountains and Oceans as graves, pressing Fear.
Expelled from anything pure, hiding ...
In my coffin Ι laugh loud, but nothing...
Like a noise from above where Earth decayed
Concrete water on me, like guilts and regrets
Where even sorrow matters no more
Mountains and Oceans as graves, pressing Fear
Expelled from anything pure, hiding…
It’s the End of the Walk…Back in the cage.
|
Decemberance Athens, Greece
Exploring the deepest aspects of inner Hell since 1997...
Streaming and Download help
If you like Decemberance, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp