2004 - SIDERARTICA - SHAPES AND COLOURS FROM THE LAND OF GOD CD
CIRCLE OF THE ANGELS
Sometimes I stop to wonder
who'll die before,
whether the wind or the sun
the sea or the rain,
the fire of God...
My nerves, under pressure.
I keep silence while a new zoo
begins to move once again,
loose and ignorant, as is its custom.
Perhaps nobody has noticed me
but one day more is so hard to bear
and in the dark they still can perceive all
they might report every thing they saw.
But their lips shall stop
and their spit keeps on shining
along with the stars.
Streets now empty have lost their breath,
memories are far-off
and the few folk remained
don't mind about that,
as if a cloud would haze
the whole horizon.
Another dream, silently...
it's only another dream
LUCKY VILLAGE'S OVERSIGHT
When night falls, new funny faces are jumping out.
Many little eyes, like faint tongues of flame,
are getting closer
and in the magic of the night,
voices are whispering new words.
By now, their language seems to be lost in time,
but I still have a hazy memory of their own voice's sound.
Once I shyly tried to catch their faces
through the moon's melancholy beams;
those little creatures whom
have lost everything throughout time.
Last night they showed me a way I never noticed before.
It's a path hidden among the trees
parallel to the way I'm passing through every morn.
It looks nobody knows such a road.
Hence, as soon as they set off,
I realized that I would have finally
made myself acquainted with their secrets buried inside time.
The more I was getting far from the things I already knew
the more I was feeling my senses' warmth reborn,
and contamination clearly died down,
making room for a nearer and firmer pureness.
A disarming scenery
had been appearing now in front of my eyes,
filling my heart with tears and nostalgia.
That moment I started guessing
that even human beings might have born there,
but nobody either knows or remember what I'm talking about.
Anyway, since that night I know
looking for the land of God it makes no sense, by now
and down there, in this unreal town,
echoes of homesickness come back.
So, now, loneliness covers every face with crying,
but these lost heroes are lying down on their memories...
sometime are chained like only wonderful dreams can be.
Waves spit on my memories
and flies lick remains like salt on a cliff
swallowing desolation's wan stains
and skies without any prayin'.
You have generated just this:
eyes which float on cages and black tones,
settlin' on to paltry customs
while humans are going to dance.
Now you're just the king of the silly ones...
crown slips out of your head as if it were snow.
Now you're just the king of the losers
and your sceptre gives in without a lament.
Frenzied worker ants all lined up
bow in front of ghosts and gods,
heavily made-up Golems
smiling from rotating chariots.
But a shadow come in
breaking through the wall of truth
while that fire is eating its flesh
passing through roads and nerves.
Now you're just the king of the foolish ones...
crown slips out of your head as if it were snow.
Well, you're just the king of the wretched
and your sceptrer gives in without a lament.
SNOW WHITE CORPSE (FOUND)
you let the cold evening
passing through yourself.
I don't want to let you alone
while your fear goes up the light.
I'll succeed in feeling
your new sweet caresses,
now cold and sofr as pure snow.
I'll succeed in listening to your breaths
without any pulsing heartbeats any longer.
But despair is keeping me here,
denying me any escape.
Dwon there, among the paper houses,
there's a prophet laying human sacrifices.
I'll manage to perceive your smiles with no regrets,
re-flowering like roses in May.
I'll succeed in feeling your words
words coming down like September dewdrops.
As for myself there's no surprise,
just the wish not to see any more
with these eyes which uselessly tried
to adapt themselves.
I will be staring after you, always, every day.
My tears are for you
and for those whom were able
to die without forgetting.
Every word of us
is close to become just a memory.
LUCY PHARR'S MAY
when the dusk of Lucy Pharr came,
celebration time opened for the Oroputs.
Now, in their hearts,
there are no pulsing beats any longer,
but only the memory of a distand land
lost in time.
When they will understand
that their searching served no purpose,
then they will smile like death do,
before carrying away the last scraps
of all what has been.
SHAPES FROM THE LAND OF GOD
Where I come from nobody knows
And where I am going everything goes
The wind blows, the sea floats
and where I am going nobody knows.
COLOURS FROM THE LAND OF GOD
Even those last illusions
are falling like exhausted bricks.
The image of your hair is making for bore
while worry is fading away.
Here comes a storm
sweeping away this last deep night.
Sexes still move,
bodies still move
to reconstruct all what has been.
My life is like a child's
feeling in advance when death comes to him.
I feel time is just running out
and a raindrop falls on my thoughts.
Stars enjoy flying away
but they don't know
later they'll get forever dead.
NUOVA YORK ANNO 4
The deathbed was bending towards him,
mocking and not moved to pity at all
for what he was feeling inside.
And his mother rocked him,
taking him to his new hell.
I was counting the passing ones...
I had already seen as many
as one couldn't believe.
While looking at the freezing scene,
I didn't feel tears fall down any longer
and my life was longing for flowers
and some careless lust for vengeance.
I never found the land of God,
or... may be...
I've been walking on it so many times,
When the night falls,
the most beautiful son
is making for his own cross
and, on the cold asphalt,
he starts feeling his sorrow.