1. |
Schweigespirale
02:45
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[SPOKEN]
Ladies and gentlemen, you're kindly requested to avoid any kind of conversation by this moment.
Just because you can speak, you result being such as lawyers of a miserable liar.
Indeed, every human communication issue can be displayed as a collective frame of dull mythomania, since you simply use words to ask things to be what they actually aren't, otherwise there'd be no need to speak at all.
Looks like you need to merely talk about things as you wish them to be, more than as they currently are.
Your present's substantially evident in itself, silence is your only real way of confession, and all of your speeches are nothing more than a bunch of crafty interested lies.
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2. |
Blatancies
06:09
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There just were God and us
as children playing hide and seek through the streets
we called aloud His name and ours
trying to mask
the fright of our autism behind our blatancies.
There were no gods with us
while we were playing the revolution through the streets
we cursed aloud His name and life
covering all the shame
of feeling like a thing we couldn't tell.
We fell asleep as naive kids
then found ourselves awakened as men.
There were no gods with us
just warriors holding knives and guns through the streets
we called aloud His name and ours
trying to hide
our desperate minds under our noisy spiky hair.
There are still God and us
as angels singing their pain through the streets
we still bless our own name and life
throwing off the shame
of understanding that
we'll fall asleep as unglorious gods
and find ourselves awakened as men.
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3. |
Carved in oblivion
04:25
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I grew up in this cold square
hid my cigarettes among these walls
when their cost was half as much
carved in bricks a hundred women's names
memory keeps just few of them
the ones I kissed
perhaps not even that
'cause none of them ever asked where I was headed
digging for happiness
oh, never mind.
And I grew up on a cold peak
notched my secrets into the stone
carved in ice a hundred naive snowmen
memory sees them melt away
frightened to death
by nonexistence and neglect
and none of them will ever wonder if I was happy
or if I'll ever be
oh, never mind.
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4. |
Unexpected hero
10:50
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Through my window
I couldn't find the paths of happiness
yet on my wall
there was a pair of pinned epic faces
suggesting a way
as a daydream of tomorrow.
Bashful - desperate - lonely
fancying of a blatant hero that could pay back all troubles
a spine-chilling shout that could upset all my smooth silences
worried – outcast – but still alive
looking for a manly angel that could restore my Eden
or figuring out a way to become that one.
[SPOKEN]
He was just a kid.
He broke his toys and then silently cried.
He tried to forget that silence, and his white hours on the fireplace, softly recounting a story he never had.
Once he sniffed the city concrete and managed to get up.
He became the man his childish tales were fancying about, the man all the whispers had failed to portray.
So now he can speak.
What if that child could know he's the unexpected hero of his own man's present talks and dreams?
We bet he would shout. Quit that melancholic autism, dream of himself.
No more lies: he could finally shout.
So today there hangs a looking-glass
as well as an ancient childish self-portrait
well now I'm the hero of my own hero
God in my Heaven
cloud of my storms
I'm the horizon the path and my shoes
I'm the boat and I'm the wave.
Selfish – charming – and serene
master of my days
no rhetorics, no more fucking lies
a child cosily wearing his clothes
I'm still alone
I'm still that one.
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5. |
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I'll medicate anyone I stabbed
and tail everyone I fled from
I'll tinge my young boredom
with some cheap pastels bought on the road
with no doubts
won't look back
now I'm coming back home
road signs seem to shine brighter
as I get close.
I took some nice pictures
a bag of scattered tears
a rusty compass and some fears
I'm bringing everything back home.
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kleinGOTT Marsicovetere, Italy
Deathbed tunes for little gods and other monsters – from Southern Italy
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