1. |
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2. |
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Look at god‘s most wretched creations
marked and signed by the troubles of life!
Enduring pain is their steady companion
and their gloom is absorbing all light
Inmidst this mess they all shall find solace
Lament‘s muse shows her secrets to them.
Not to the mundane crowd, never enlightened
Never sprayed with blood nor touched with the coal
Oh they are just dust in the ruins
Blown apart by the stormwinds of levity
Spread across the forsaken lands
All divine nipped in the bud.
Woe is me for I am lost
for i sit here drinking stale wine
writing signs on the canvas
drawing tales with my blood.
The cogwheel of fate turns in relentless precision
crushes the skeletons of souls into dust.
Teeth grinding ceaselessly in their transmission
valor to grit, armour to rust!
And the mills roll on as the winds blow
and the flour pours on the soil.
the lynch mob gathers with bloodshot eyes -
never healed - never perceiving
they steadily soliloquise.
Forcefulness slowly gets strangled
gently choked by the rope of triviality
under the gallows of inspiration
the sacred grove where we lovers meet.
Her silhouette teaches us silence -
words are silver but silence is gold.
All these quiet lessons in violence
the new will be just like the old.
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3. |
Das Phantom zerrinnt
03:47
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Great expectations weaving a winding sheet
For all belief
Over the edge of space it floats away like haze
into the deep
What once
seemed to be worth
every breath
Is nothing but shapes in the mist
What once
used to be carved
in stone
just riddles that cease to exist
Senses declining
ouroboros unwinding
twisting and squirming
but never returning
The face in the mirror
disappears like a ghost
slowly melting away
airy notion
matter in motion
fading along with the day
Through silent dull air
sounds a scornful song
a small night storm whispers
„not for you“
„not for you“
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4. |
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Dark
you call the future
But it is day
shining like suns
Far
into the distance
reaches the past
of yesterday's glow
Whoever dives into its night
Will be blind like the mole
drawing its lightless corridors through forlorn empires
under the apple tree into the bowel of wrath
Forsaken is god and the well of life’s water
We dug our own cisterns, broken and leaking
Souls crawling through tombs –
not of their own experience
building a vault
for the monstrous coffin of hope.
Knocking desperately at the gates
In the delusion to become
what others have been
Doubter
Look at poor Abschalom
Proud like the morning star
He hangs on his hair
Heavy as a millstone hangs tight around the neck
all his burdens
shall rest upon all of his heirs
O hope – show me faith
O self – build her a marble shrine
to entomb her remains
And esperance
whips her wild team across the marshlands of history
Through the feces and the carrion
Grinding the hopeless
towards the abyss of desperation
Hooves trample the guilt
under wheels …
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5. |
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6. |
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Like worms in a forest fire
flee the heatwaves
digging deeper below
intricated in the roots of bitterness
we are lost
in the bardo of dreams.
While the ghosts of long since sunken dead
gnaw the flesh off the spine of vanity
The thin line
distinguishing life from death
image from person
is hidden from the eye
instant karma, lemurian nightmares
steady reflections
of faces on the blood in the grail
The gems that you reach for are unreal as phantoms
floating in dreams and luminous illusions
presumptuousness led us to far away places
in sackcloth and ash we return.
Reveal me utopia
a world in a nutshell
Where promise means failure
and exactness is fake.
Be confident liars
lose with euphoria
Let grief be your guide in times of disgrace
Through this vale of tears
this dismal place where our own stunning visions
Will be the key to the realms
within ourselves
a feverish sweven
in which the young light
marries the dawn
In the eye of voidness
life is but a dream
ephemeral poem
shadow and hollow foam
Set ablaze your wisdom
Let the pyres burn
incinerate your visions
Forget, undo and unlearn
So our praise
shall be with the dead
Not with the ones who still suffer from living
And the ones
who never have been
Should be blessed
for they haven’t faced evil
forever we‘re yearning for former days
times of grace
sun and glory
but deep in the marrow we know
that nothing
will ever come.
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7. |
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This day I awoke in poisonous smoke
from my sleep upon pillows of rust
And I spoke to the wild like a motherless child
All alone and unable to trust.
And a flood cleaned the streets, freed the gutter from creeps
fluid moment when dust turns to mud
and a cloudbursting rain numbs all your pain
but it only retreats to come back.
All the bridges I crossed - ropes that I tossed
on the endless ascend to apex
have been wasted time – i was led by blind
one woe keeps devouring the next.
Powdery mildew spreads over those living dead
Trapped deep in the paltriest of lives
Destitute - ill repute – suffer in solitude
Not an acre of wheat will survive.
ruthless, cold determination
pushed by forces of gravity
into the bottomless pit
of idle self-contemplation
marks the tombstone for destiny
on the massgrave of time.
Disorder and devotion -
rivers become oceans
a maelstrom - crushing coastlines
leaving chaos and commotion
flotsam and jetsam
washed ashore by the waters
within the most precious things
this pityful life can bring
Mankind,
Apes in search of salvation
murderous crown of creation
drenched in morality,
behold the catastrophe
We are
the heavenly ill congregation
winding in self mutilation
like a turin horse tenderly
we embrace our misery.
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8. |
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9. |
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From the unceasing stare of the heavenly eye
the true heart sickens
where the purifying streams of life ran dry
as the blood thickened.
Icarus in the glory of his own mortality
could not break the silence of divine winds
with blunt claws and featherless wings.
Self-loathing sprouts underneath dark shades
which have never been pierced
by the flash of the blade.
A white veil
laid down on the green that night
between pillars of black
reflecting the pale blue light.
A play of colors - a subtle death in disguise
spreads his fragrance like swarming fireflies.
Pure, radiant - like cherry blossoms in spring
know nothing but falling -
dying in beauty within.
If I go riding the waves
my corpse shall crown the foam
If I cross highest mountains
deep moss shall grow
on my mortal remains
But if I die
at his holy feet
and breathe my last black breath
From my dead body shall grow new seed
And I won’t ever look back.
Most horrific self inflicted wounds
caused by the sword of truth,
Death without deliverance
and atonement of guilt,
Punishment in the form of life
and the dawn of the flesh.
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