![[ 1/4 morto ]](img/top1.png)
- Mala tempora
- War on defeated's end
- Din
- Meaningless elbowing
- The birth of a monster
- Feeling no grief
- In constant struggle
- The defeatist
- Arrogance
- Redeem the rubble
- My turn to be silent
- Requiem to ourselves
- Scrape throat
- My proxemics
- The era of prostitution
- Inconclusiveness
- Lying on abundance
- Polygraph smiles
- Wickednesses
- Cleroine
- Contagion
- Distruttore
- Glazed aluminium
- The art of giving up
- The gallows pole
- Idiocracy
- Heads are falling
- A semantic matter
- Hindsight
Che la paura cambi fronte
-No English translation for this 7"-Split with Entact
-Instrumental-
Fighting with no glory to pursue and lose. History will flow above me, cast me aside, remove all our faces. Whom did I offer my life to? I won't linger and estimate ways to die: I can already feel myself dragged down deep. None will remember me.
Whoever wants to understand where our corner of paradise floats upon must become fully aware of the mechanics. Indignation doesn't protect us from front attack passed off as a mere protection of our interests: a war declared against ourselves sounds unusual. What we care about is indefensible and intangible, there's neither logic nor power that can protect that: it is a way of being, of loving, of growing and of sharing.
You've gone past the limit of blows you can deal to me: from this very moment I'm starting to feel a growing sense of nausea. Your pathetic intrigues aim at striking first, with the purpose of leaving me out. The careerist craving for victory doesn't belong to people like me.
People are not born evil, they unlearn loving more or less quickly. The birth of a monster is a complicated labour, unforgivable social defeat. Withdrawal from others as a form of survival is not a self-defence weapon. You might as well face present hostilities and leave hesitations aside, so you won't run the risk of waking up defeated tomorrow: that must not happen. You painted the portrait of a monster but it doesn't resemble me at all: I didn't stop loving, you tried and failed once again.
It's a false theory that any bereavement causes grief: sometimes that makes you euphoric. Lives dedicated to evil get to and end: double-dealers, despots, killers, people who take advantage of others, sadists and tyrants. I can't be sad for those who ignored mercy. Some people deem immoral to be untouched by unhappiness: to those who spread nothing but pain I wish carelessness by their deathbed.
Il dono della sintesi - Discography
No, I don't think resistance is irrelevant but still I struggle to face what I have before me. Expectations around me are rarely mine, nothing I would fight for for just one day. It's not a matter of will-power or muscles, drown in a dehumanizing reality. I gave the best I had, it got lost in the void, ashes to the wind, I know I'll never have them back.
You throw away the key to the drawer where you put all your dreams. You hope the day will come when everything will change, but before demolishing you've got to build: you can't think that at the mercy of the events the fate will rescue you from your worries. You let your troubles wear you out without reacting! You love losing without fighting: you like that, but I don't.
You transpire arrogance and contempt. A judgement on anything, a consciousness that shines with you, but you don't realise that you're using the wrong parameter to justify some of your wrong words. When I think I hit rock bottom you show me there's worst out there: immorality in flesh and blood.
Focus clearly on every detail to know where to strike. Effectiveness never conceives chance, never. Demolish to rebuild: an endless cycle that doesn't stop now.
-Instrumental-
I feel it hurts to swallow grieves, a slow digestion of unpleasant gestures. What do you want from me? I know for sure your food's going to kill me, but you keep feeding me... What do you want from me? An inner death?
I'm astounded each time I hear you talking from behind: I never really understood the meaning of it all. Ears buzz and throat scrapes, I've got nothing to do with you anymore: I don't listen to you anymore.
Empty gestures make sense because they keep distance alive: I didn't ask you to stay here beside me. I always chose whom to keep close and this has nothing to do with you. You're just an acquaintance to me and there's no affection for you. I do care about distance.
What does it mean to you to appear, to try and look different from what you really are? Hiding your identity with clothes, sunglasses and smiles means prostituting your true essence, what will you be left with? Nothing more than an image... Focus your existence on what you think and you believe in, whatever you are you are for yourself, image means nothing.
You can't see the forest but everywhere around you are trees... The mutability of what is yearned for though never owned, non-will... Non-will to accept the scorched disappointment for not obtaining. To try is not enough, you need to want.
You think about evils of the world: you pray, you hope, still you have a tabula rasa in your head. Family, job, everyday life, they make you forget the evils you were thinking of two minutes ago and life rolls on just like before. Again you lie down on your abundance and extend it to your loved ones. What touches your heart quickly vanishes into nothing!
You smile by contract but don't care about me, I turn around, you're serious already, are you trying to fool me? What kind of logic is yours? Do you think this is a way to be liked? It's only circumstances, don't waste your smiles for me. I don't even know you!
To argue, such a weird term for someone like you who always talked and talked, leaving to others the duty to conceive music as a message. Wickednesses in notes for an empty picture, how can you find the spur to write about nothing yet? Is it just an excuse to avoid everything else? I suffer in the realization of your incapability of communicating, bleargh... Sing up and you'll get over it...
Vatican institution affects the life of those who reject it through interference of its politics. Keep away from me! My distance from those dogmas that stereotype too many sheep.
If it was up to me, I'd never let hate spread like a virus: you have no solutions because it's your interest. Clean shirts covering chests unworthy of loving: that's why I do things my way. Contagion's a huge pleasure to you.
-Nerorgasmo cover (1984)-
Working class may go to heaven but you live hell on earth first, with no will at all. They say work dignifies human being, but sometimes it degrades. Without sunlight shining upon me I just can't live happily. I reflect images of lost moments on metal plates and mirrors. I think labourers are weakened by work, forget dignity.
You lose what you have without any grudge, you let it go, for ice still melts in the sun, it's natural, give up now! You need a firm hand to keep a certain control upon what you want to keep beside you, immobility's not for me...
Generational discomfort is a noose around your neck, tightening and hurting. Look and shiver. Look down and shiver. Overwhelming anxiety makes you think to step into the void and dangle. Look down and shiver.
Lies have more power than weapons, than guns, than human will. Deceit is a symptom of coherence. Come on, try to bestow nothing but falseness and you'll see that focus will be upon you alone the whole time.
The heads of those who wanted to oppress are falling around me. Your blade is my joy.
A t-shirt facing an uniform: something's wrong here, absolute partiality? Armies versus peoples, clear differences, not only in intentions. You can call it conflict, in semantics it's guerrilla!
If I look back with hindsight at what I've been through to get here I got neither regrets nor certainties. I distrust whoever preaches ways to a just self-concern, prone to mistakes. I no longer draw absoluteness from shapes accomplished through errors. I treasure all my questions as the greatest of my gifts, waiting for the next mistake.