1. |
Intro
02:11
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2. |
Story of..
04:26
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The stone walls which he touched at least a hundred times,
He pressed the nails deep in the skin not knowing whether it’s a dream or reality.
The pulse rate was still high
Spiderwebs reminding him of the web of his thoughts shivered steadily
A pleading voice and a vision of a morning dawn he almost hadn’t known
He wrote the story he found himself in into the dust on the floor
Memories remained pressed deep, only sleep became his sanctuary
A beautiful landscape, growth, trees, a scent carried by the symphony of recollections
Sometimes the dreams went black and awakening was heavy like a tar left in these walls
Snow was falling, crying and waited for the small impulse of hope
For the passing movement behind the doors which still are a great unknown
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3. |
One Lost Gun
05:17
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Your car on the crossroad, the moonshine was so sharp
Shard incised deep inside
Broken window and a familiar feeling in the stomach
Footprints vanish in the distance
Gun is nowhere to be seen
The head full of mess
The fear for the family
To take the fate on one’s shoulders?
To offer sacrifice so great?
To sacrifice one’s life
It will flow through the fingers like a sand
To catch just a few grains and live through a little part
The little part of that which people ceased to honour
You are sitting on your bench, musing, staring to the void
Where is justice? Where has (where’s) humanity gone?
This night like that time. Everything is coming back…
You see it like it was today…
Just one thought in the head
One lost gun
One lost life
Is there a chance to see the sun again?
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4. |
Not To Be Alone
03:41
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Not to be alone, lust and sadness.
How much strenght do we have?
We are charming ourselves.
In wonder and tears we wade.
Thrown into the curse so known.
In the long struggle with ourselves.
The one of the hardest.
Not to be alone. Not to remain alone. At any price?
How many of use are going trough this?
Looking for the right ones and breaking down the others?
Loneliness crossed into desire that wont let you sleep.
Eyes wide open.
The mornings into which you do not want to wake.
The burden of reality.
Two planes of reality.
Imprisoment in the labyrinth of fiction.
The soul wanders astray, searching.
Words fly trough the wind.
And we are calling that known, curse with shiver in our backs.
What will heal us? Is there a way out of the intrique.
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5. |
From Nails To Velvet
05:35
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Hands into fists. My Anger Your tears.
Everything that was inside has expanded.
So many broken things. Too much wail.
An ardent character. A hot brain.
One boy. One mother, father and sister
Blind injustice. Blind perception of what we call care.
Journey from nails to the velvet calm.
Still couldn´t believe that peace will come.
The idea seemed incredible.
More calm, more politic acts.
And edges that seemed sharp are smooth now.
I wanna take care of them.
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At Folsom Prison Prague, Czech Republic
Post-hardcore from Prague, Czech Republic
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