Catharsis - Duende (Till Soil Is Closer Than The Sky) | Текст песни

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• Catharsis
• Duende (Till Soil Is Closer Than The Sky)

Black bitter milk we
drink in toast to the dawn
In huddled silence as
a long night falls
We write of love upon
the bodies of our dead
Swallow pride and
venom for our daily bread
Duende
Wash your conscience
in the tears of men who rape
Trace your pleasures
in the outlines of pain
You speak of laws and
rights in this day and age?
I don't believe in
anything I can't taste
Duende
And tonight the losers
sleep, or lie awake and gnaw their wrists
Crippled dancers,
beaten heroes, squandered artists
Refugees from those
wretched lands
Where our dreams died
like lovers in our hands
While outside in
that new age
Lost children and
devils play
On the very
doorsteps of our homes
New deities sworn
in
Consuming from
without and from within
Clean the land down
to bare and blackened bones
Make ready ten billion
beds in hell
For we're all coming
soon And in this noise, the
dreadful silence of tongues
Tied by words never
spoken, songs left unsung
Vows that were bent
rather than broken
Locked chambers that
will never open
And none on this earth
will ever get what they want
And that is beautiful,
or close enough
And we'll clutch our
regrets
Shut out the rest
Cut out the hearts
from our chests
And we move
Eyes shut, silent,
hand in hand
Towards a broken
promised land When those before
you lost their heads upon the block
Or sold themselves
into the services of the
Snakes as new gods
Reshape the world
in their own image
And all the others
turn their eyes away
We will set out with a
fire in our hearts
With a desire that
cannot be bought
To snatch the morning
from the jaws of the night
To take the dead and
bring them back to life
Duende nowordsnotouchnosleepnotrustnohopenofaithnorestingplace From childhood schemes
on stranger's floors
To sickbeds, cells
And foreign shores
Homeless
Heartless
Restless
Selfless
Lifeless
Loveless
Less and
Less and
Less And if the morning
comes late this time
That fickle sun will
rise to find
My fingers clutched
tight around the husks
Of dreams I built from
dust
Finally dead
Dead in the land of
the dead
And they will call it
suicide
As I scream for just
one finger of dawn
And it's coming
On all horizons, like
gathering clouds
Bar the doors to shut
it out
But put your ear to
your chest
You will hear
In your own breast
Hoof beats
Closing in and there's nothing
pure in this place
and there's nothing
clean in this place
and there's nothing
sure in this place
and there's nothing
free in this place
and in this world
there's nothing safe
and in this world
there's nothing fair
and nothing in this
world is true
this world that i
can't bear
and the morning
came late I'll spit it back in
your face
Last-born of an evil
race
We're all evil in this
place Just fucking give
me a taste

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