Orgone - Vomited Hyacinths(First Act of Beauty) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Orgone
• Vomited Hyacinths(First Act of Beauty)

Exiting the convention, with arms crossed on a parapet of peat moss, he looms over the grizzly scene of his former hunting grounds. The branches hiss a hanging hex of leaves and bark, guarding the ground and sky. He finds an abandoned home off the old state road, with rusted orange and brown farm tools complimented by the fading family portraits of Dr. Ulysses S. Woolstrom and a pastel painting of a blonde-haired Jesus, reminiscent of an aspiring Hitler youth, brandishing a rocket launcher and the stern porcelain luster. Everywhere there is a noise that seeps like coastal floodwater, which make his eyes focus on the patterned saw edges and scithes. But the distracting external static is overpowered by a spiraling and calming inner hum to which he surrenders. A vowelic drone soothes his soul as he sheds his diamond axe, a relic of his reluctant second birth. The memories are exhumed. He whispers: "Insanity is the apprentice of wisdom". It has contorted, injured, ridiculed and betrayed him, until collapsing into exhaustion. And yet now, in his terrifying awakening, he cherishes its focus and brutal healing. It has empowered his beakless half, which was plunged into the company volcano by history's pimpled, bullying face. He rode the prototype rollercoaster, a vessel crudely bound in yellowing masking tape and cupboard screws. He separated from the copper track and met the decrepit conductor at the bottom of the hill. He saw himself.
And then, through a spray-painted window, he faintly saw the ceramic blue jay break from its plaster and begin its baptismal flight. With a single flutter of its wing, he evaporated, shedding all form. He flew from a restrained Victorian balcony and collected armies in his hands, turning paid mercenaries into skinny, red-faced orators. He swam laps in rural water towers, mimicking the collision of ocean and rain. Every unseen chamber of torture was unearthed, as a flurry of elegant cows trampled bank vaults and unrecognized slaves projected diaries into the skyline, naming names. Wealthy self-help gurus, flamboyant princes and demented occultists vomited hyacinths, revolted by their first act of beauty. Missile silos refused the emerging freedom, firing cylindrical rounds which landed on themselves. The tops of helicopters turned into ceiling fans, relieving the arid desert and obelisks crumbled into snowballs, which women pelted at their senators. With delight, he watched his final lesson unravel.

Orgone еще тексты