Etikett: Futurukubism

The sun is down,
the spirits arising,
tribal dance will heal their sores.
The priest is praying
and sacrificing.
Young men dreaming of the wars

Men will suffer, men will die
before the autumn has arrived.
before the country peaceful lie,
because the treason was connived.

What you know
makes no difference.
What you have
makes no change.

A handful of growing seeds
has cast a shadow on the sand.
The time is ripe for martial deeds.
A tidal wave sweeps cross the land.

Unfair justice, the reason behind,
the white man’s fatal treachery.
Convinced in soul, controlled in mind.
Condemned to eternal slavery.

Sweat and hate will change your fate.
Reversed minds in ritual dance.
At any rate it is too late
summoning gods in savage trance.

Det bästa sättet att dämpa tentaångest är nog att lägga tiden på att göra en låt istället för att plugga.

My cup of coffee
is colder than the fear
burning inside of me.
I try to study
saying I’m learning for life
is just hypocrisy.

Will I stand the test?
Will I fall with the rest?

This screaming anguish
that tears me apart
so smoothly and silently
is not less harmful
than ice-cold facts and proofs
crushing so violently.

I blame my instincts
they make me calm down
and take it unseriously.
Forceless to action
I feel my chance to repair
slipping away from me.

The first judgement
is fundamental
for my future
for my fortune.

Man kan tro att huvudet var fullt av mörka tankar, men om de fanns där så kanaliserades de ut i mörka texter och mörk musik.

The ground is crushing my soul.
The hounds are hunting my body.
This too white snow as cold as my fear
drives me insane, it makes me stumble.

It’s time for me to understand
that I’m not chasing an unknown future.
It’s the past that hunts me into it,
always too fast and there at last,
freedom in the arms of Earth.

Forward is a blinding view.
Backwards, boring and depressive.
The hounds of time scratch my health,
tear me apart, open me up inside.

Time runs through my head.
A head frosty and fragile.
Melts my mind with the warmth of change.
The difference keeps people floating

But I keep on crawling,
brawling with my shadows,
tracing myself into a landscape of
unfulfilled dreams.

Innehåller en del historiska samplingar från Berlinmurens fall 1989.

When the walls have fallen to the ground
and the ground belongs to everyone,
a hope is risen for a golden age,
an age of rebirth of humanity.

Between the civil wars and age of decline,
reconstruction will take place.
Reconstruction of the cities and not unneeded
of the since so long forgotten common sense.

There’s a new europe rising,
rising from the dust
with lust for life and trust for the citizen.
Just step into the future.

The old one exploded by ethnic collisions,
unnecessary but unavoidable.
The fusion of people taught understanding,
the solution that always been thrown away.

The joy of depression is decades away.
The toys for opression destroyed.
The environment slowly recovering
from the wounds of an earlier century.

Inspirerad av en cykelolycka som inte alls gick till som i sången.

Elle est cinq minutes en retard,
pour voir l’accident.
Un garcon fragile et une voiture.
Collision fatale.

Il fait soleil, les oiseaux chantent.
Aller vite au bicyclette.
Le bon chemin, se bon semain
est tres dangereus.

Mais elle est cinq minutes en retard
pour voir une collision fatale.
Elle est cinq minutes en retard
pour voir une evenement macabre.

L’homme prospere parle a la telephone,
la noveautee dans sa voiture.
Aller vite au mercedes
n’est pas dangereus.

Changer de rue. Il ne voit pas.
Le garcon au bicyclette au par-bris.
Tous est rouge. Quelle malchance
pour le garcon
et la voiture…

In my waterproof plastic pocket
I have a collection of frozen sunrays,
gathered in the pitch black light of a sandwich
that floats in the river of subconsciousness.

In the backseat of my brand new car
a madman had the time of his life,
cutting with his razor-bladed carpet-knife
and spreading the leather-seat all over Europe.

Square grooves and deep dimples
gives the true trajectory.
Misty meaningless message
from the golf ball factory.

Pulling out the needles from the eyes
of ice cold camels high on crack.
Adhesive animals with simulated smiles
talk too much about unpaid taxes.

Single-celled life-forms in my left ear
consider the probability
of life-forms in other ears, how they look;
ideas from a science fiction book.

Candle light can delight,
can ignight your house.
Candles for crucifixion brighten my world.
Malfunction in the light-switch – darkness again.

Sunbathing albino blacks on the beach,
under the yellow December moon,
teaching how to fly with just one unarmed leg
and miss the point in the end of a sentence

Egyptian pyramids getting lost
in the yuppie-jungle of the city,
where sharks swim among tobacco-plants
and albino aliens are impossible.