(written by Ian Curtis, released by Joy Division in 1980 on Closer LP)

Procession moves on, the shouting is over
Praise to the glory of loved ones now gone
Talking aloud as they sit round their tables
Scattering flowers washed down by the rain
Stood by the gate at the foot of the garden
Watching them pass like clouds in the sky
Try to cry out in the heat of the moment
Possessed by a fury that burns from inside

Cry like a child, though these years make me older
With children my time is so wastefully spent
A burden to keep, though their inner communion
Accept like a curse an unlucky deal
Played by the gate at the foot of the garden
My view stretches out from the fence to the wall
No words could explain, no actions determine
Just watching the trees and the leaves as they fall


Downstream floating
Restless breathing
Toxin Flowing
C.N.S. screaming ...Homewards!
Feelings folding
Ears resounding
Tears drying
C.N.S. screaming
Nobody home,
I'm drifting
I'm drifting
I feel myself like
Shining on the ice of Solaris
isn't it funny?
Your sick son
Where are her hands?
Where is her life?
Kill me, ocean...

(written by Rudy Ratzinger, released by :wumpscut: in 1994 on Dried Blood MCD)

"I'm interrupting something, you were explaining Jack, How we'd be better off without him around here" Dying culture Don't abuse me You'll need me soon Fighting for You i'll tear up your bodies Taste the sweet smell of blood Slow death i cause And nightmares i bring Dying culture No more money counts Only a fear of senseless praying Dying culture Your blood's on my hands Dying culture Was there an ending What was on your mind Your own breed collapsed Suffered from cancer Taste the sweet smell of plague Dying culture It's the last time i squirt the poison of truth Into your swelled body Dying culture Your blood's on my hands No one will stop me The blossom of death So feel my cape covering mankind Dying culture Your blood's on my hands On my hands Fuck you Dying culture Your blood's on my hands


Ein Engel ist geworden...
Deine Tränen weinen die Nacht herein,
hoffnungslos weiss, stumm; langsam.
Große stille Schneeflocken.
Deine Tränen weinen die Nacht herein
und dein Körper geknetet aus Schnee.
Wir liegen kalt und tot, uns weckt kein Singen,
keines Friedens Gruß.
Nicht für uns...
Wir harren wohl der Auferstehung zu, Tag um Tag,
wie ein geweihter Dolch unsre Totensonne schlitz.
Der Lorberkranz, der heilige Leib...
Tage zertrümmert, Marterjahre.
... Und Schauer von Licht.
Oh, diese Augen den weiten Himmel leeren...
Es hat der Schnee über Nacht...
meine Totenmaske gemacht.


A brown door hides the punishment of God.
It snows always, here.
Oh, my tempest!
Let's praise the sleighs in their night
cry under the wonderful winter sky...
Let's praise the distance of the dreadful light.
Banned... is... the light... forever... I remember...
to know where the joy is.
Let's drink from the earth, from the mouth leaks the ice...
Forever and ever again...
I am the prayer to Enned,
the creature framed by an useless teacher
who will carry behind and within Himself,
his useless end.
They stopped, surprised by the monument magnitude;
there, in the wood, that terrible and beautiful... monument.
What are you doing... I'll kill you...
I will poke your eyes out from life...
I will offer you the Sunset...
to cry about, and I will demand silence.
You won't get out from this place,
perfumed by water on the wood and by musk.
The black monument.
Erected upon this pale grief.
Now somebody guards it and
somebody else slides among the pipes.
Every... time... I... have... to explain... matters...
which... you... couldn't translate!!!
Everywhere people make war... everywhere... never seen...
He was the war.
He was the fading shadow and the next moment the dream to forgot.
And I am... the lost dream...
go back and play before the house.
The night is still there and promised not to go away.
The snow and the sledges remained for you.
I'll bring a friend and someone else will join us later.
Breathe your adored chill, feel your lungs alive.
Nobody will come here.
And we'll go through the forest, along our paths,
and the animals will be scared but won't seem ridicolous to us.
My sister stands by you, you met my friend.
You cried for her grief.
Then you switched off the world stars and put candles on.
Our fates are chapped from cold.
The glorious day has ended.
Let's go to the monument,
we'll poke the eyes out from those
who will look at it and eat their soul and heart.


Here again, speaking with you... and it's September.
Here the two of us.
So many the written sentences to be ashamed of,
in which I can't accept myself.
Your always beeing there almost made me believe
you didn't exist or, at least any longer.
You think I'm only speaking to my own self.
It's logical and seems to be right.
Though for the first time you seem different
maybe you're not afraid of me any longer.
Soon it'll be morning and
I'll hear again these ludicrous birds singing.
Come and sleep with me.
Let's try to rest.
I know you'd laugh, you feel agitated.
You don't believe in sleeping.
What else could I do if not talk to you...
This closeness is very gloomy but sometimes,
it seems to let me breathe.
I can take it for Paradise.
Where is the child...?
Tell me, if you can do so.
Now, someone comes in...