1. |
Son of the New Faith
02:15
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Is this the reflection of myself?
Suffering from little unsatisfied desires
if your mind makes ugliness of the past
Does she consider me a means to her end?
Or does she not do that at all?
I'm losing faith,
Her tentacles drag me down
into the depths/ abyss,
resigned, I don't do nothing to stop it
The poison of her suckers comfort me,
nobody can imagine what I can feel
disappointment, love, fear, catharsis
loss, indeed everyone who might try it
No one will burn the veil of Maya
Impossible to turn back.
I would rather live a lie.
I have lost faith, i found a new religion
My suffering body will not suffer anymore
My mouth in the mirror says:
Amen,
Amen,
Amen.
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2. |
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Il' faut tuer les passions'
please take me with you in your lap
I need to lost sight,
I'm not a saint but I need to castrate myself
Eyes create illusions, genitals create false idols.
Knives in the hands, no stitches, no tears-eating face.
You've got to kill passions.
Sorrow and joy.
Blood and milk.
Tired of chasing your shadows,
please admit me into your womb again,
pulled in front of our audience
'Bisogna Uccidere Le Passioni'
Curtain's closing, lights off
applause.
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3. |
Son of Four-Hands Way
04:36
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Lack of knowledge, sacrifice, passion,
ordinary days turn into famished hyenas
and I'm their meal.
Do you will surrender to destiny?
The black one descends from the abyss.
Possessed, entranced, controlled?
No! It's her! A hand covering my face,
a hand holding destruction,
a hand purifies,
a hand prays the transformation.
Nudity removes any illusion.
Yelps come to my ears but other complaints,
other carcasses. Each new victim,
a new head from her necklace.
She has no intention of ending the carnage
She wants to recreate.
Death becomes for a better dimension.
How to get rid from these cursed hands?
Her fury silent, it was anything.
All that remains is despair.
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4. |
Son of the Carcinoma
02:09
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She will come out like a cancer.
Sitting in the tub, drunk
bathed into puke 'n' cock hairs.
Eating rotten meat, imagining it was your mother.
I wanna raise you inside my stomach.
As I've done.
I'll be your womb/ utero.
We'll be a single thing again,
whore I'll be your owner, your possessor,
Now the cancer, you'll feed yourself by my acid
my waste and you will grow.
Finally you will reborn.
This is new flesh,
sinking into a black hole of loneliness/ desperation.
This is true love.
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5. |
Son of Egoistic Love
02:58
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She doesn't love me.
She possess me like a ring of fire,
satisfy her possess desire.
She knows me.
Chained in her dark prison,
the key is hidden in her breast,
impossible to move,
to get rid of,
scared by the despot,
by the monarch.
I feel like a completed draw of a blind painter.
Same instinct, different name.
Being sons of avidity,
sons of egoistic love,
the queen doesn't love her crowd,
but herself.
She demands the perfect crowd.
But a snake will swim in her tank,
sooner or later, lover for my savior,
devourer will go on, and on, and on,
no regrets.
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6. |
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My mind full of selfishness,
If I cut my body I'd not feel anything.
Falling into his body and dressing up of his skin.
A slimy insect into a decadent pantry,
looking for expired food and a warm place.
Dark this is not real,
dark I am not fucking real.
Hear me mother,
hear me fetus' owner,
hear me mother,
hear me holy monster.
I need a new mind.
I need to purify it.
I need to not think.
I don't need to be afraid.
Prisoner of my larynx,
prisoner of my gestures,
prisoner of my symbols.
Now god is mine.
Save your soul.
Amputate, annihilate.
No tongue. No hands,
no thoughts, no god.
No goddess.
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7. |
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The devouring womb of grave and death,
of darkness and with no-light,
the cave of nothingness.
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8. |
Son of the Black Mirror
04:12
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Her body shattered,
thousands and more gears recompose
her new flesh.
More and more perfect,
less and less human scared.
Her black mirror obsessed me,
her fnord commands me.
Pull the plug, disconnect the connection.
All the emotions are gone,
only fear remains.
Waitin' detoxication.
I feel like a driver stuck in traffic,
waiting for the final destination.
Waiting for death I'm totally addicted,
I'd like to defend myself,
for the siege of the machine,
the touch of her cold flesh
injects in me hallucinations.
She controls me with her frequencies.
This is a slave-existance.
We are all puppets of the black mirror.
Isn't it horrible?
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Bridge Nine Records Boston, Massachusetts
Started in 1995, Bridge Nine is a label that specializes in hardcore punk, with close to 300 recordings in our catalog. Check us out and keep an eye out for updates!
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