Jester's Funeral все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Did you know I remember lots of moments passed before my eyes. Believe me: I have seen liquid skies.
And one day in December, a dark storm swallowed all the light. And turned my last bright day to night.

And I know that everybody has to go. Sometime somewhere I don't know. Eternal north winds blow.

Blackened final sky, open spaces.
Blackened final sky, leave no traces.
Blackened final sky, thinking about a world behind

Why are you crying brother?
Where are the nails that will be hammered in?
Are you lying brother?
You carry the hammer; you will forgive your sins.

But you have done everything to make you weak,
to let him grow, the one who waits for you.
Let him tell you what is gone,

The abyss and its beholder. Imploding the event horizon of subjectivity.
Alienation externalized. A solipsist’s utopia: rebuilding the world according
to your perception. Paint it black. Dripping clocks and oily rain. Force
others to live in the landscapes of your desperation by declaring your
nightmares the new paradigm. Let them feel the discrepancy as a
collapse of certainties. Defamiliarized family. Unhinge their beloved
physics and imprison them in your sense of isolation. The singularity
beckons. Make them understand.

Another Connoisseur of Chaos. This one lost in his own labyrinth of
references. Distrusting disorder, he deciphers the world’s subliminal
mechanisms. Observations, calculations, statistics, and extrapolations
synthesized into a theory of secret networks. Ghosts in the machine.
Mapping their time-lapse hieroglyphs across urban topographies,
unraveling a hidden empire of conspiracies. Confronted with the
possibility of total arbitrariness the mind conspired against itself and
fabricated the evidence for a fleeting master-narrative, cartographed

In the beginning of fate I was born into a world where I could be. I was told the secrets of a history.

I can not explain it, but I know where everything is from: my mind just creates it. I don't know why I cannot die.

Nevertheless (never) I die. Nevertheless (never) I try.

I know the stories you told, nice to listen, though it's obvious they're not true. Do not believe anyone has lived here, been here before you.

The crumbling façade of the Hollow Head beckons with its promise of the
ultimate escapism: injecting the distilled essence of another person.
Shooting up chemically generated memories. Temporarily inhabiting an
unfamiliar identity, wearing the synthesized other like a second skin. But
as the alien self is pumped through your veins you are shocked by its lack
of artificiality. You recognize too many of the fragments. Like tasting
yourself form the outside. Before the other seizes control you are denied
the save oblivion of the fake. This one is real.

The Almost Empty Rooms
in Really, Really, Really, Really Weird Stories

Manipulate and rearrange the sequences
I redirect chains of events, cause and effect
A minor shift proliferates non-linear
Across the gaps of probability

We are the hollow men. We are the stuffed men. With direct eyes we will
cross into death’s other kingdom. Celebrating our cocaine-fueled apathy,
feasting on our hysterical emptiness. Dancing on the entropic spiral
downwards into disorder. Frying our synapses with chemicals and
technology. Short-circuited morality. Defining our selves in selfdestruction.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a whimper but a
bang.

Kafkaesque transformation. A mosquito sucking on your pulse while you
inject another syringe dream. Enter the insect through opiate pathways
and make yourself a home in its chitin corset. Ride its body bloated with
your sedated self. Escaping into a radical shift of perspective. Macrocosm
redefined. The instinct-driven, impulse-guided reality of the insect proves
to be the perfect sanctuary. A greater need replaces all the complications
of free will. The skeeter is the purer junkie. Losing yourself in its hunger
you disappear: on extended wings, downwards into darkness

This is just another night, a million steps away from home, distance by my side. Time is something that goes on, But even something that forgot, where it once came from.

I want to get away.
I want to go where dark deep waters flow.

Be sure that I am not afraid. There are a million stars above to light my way! And so I'm marching on and on, though I can't say where I come from, I know where I belong.

I want to get away.