Polyphony - Cosmic Awareness | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Polyphony
• Cosmic Awareness

https://vk.com/mathcore_music

The artist is poised
Sipping its poison
At war with its liver still

Consumed with ill health
Choking on blood clots
Knowing that its time is near but hoping to gnaw off a leg

The canvas primed
The palette waiting to find use in its hands
The artist stands not knowing what shape its monument may take

But its soul bursts forth
Though form unseen
Snaked lines of paint

Spread like magma over ice
Shattering the stigma of imagination
And transcending conscious thought

As cold light breaks in through the window
Breathless it collapses

In a heap
Arak spilled
Taking a last day’s breath of life

The hour is growing late
Still on its knees the artist is heaving
Producing only blood and pus
Struggling just to stand

This art is useless

How can one hope to press on with the end of life encroaching?
Fear though dulled by aquae vitae presses the artist on

A vision appears
Tangible as smoke,
but there regardless

Now weakly shaking,
brush in hand the artist continues

Rethinking forms, and speaking dissonant shapes
With each stroke of its brush it brings life to its death

This art is useless if nothing comes of it
All art is useless

Tell me someday
I will be remembered
For more than the hands I shook
The people I loved

The days I spent seeking the strength to get out of bed
The hours in front of screens
The dreams I wish I could have lived
Or will someday
If only, if only
I had the strength to press on in the face of fear

Hulking and hopeless the artist forces
itself through the wall of vines and thorns

And all the while forlorn and resigned
Feeling the encroaching and pacing night
Nipping at its weary ankles
Eyes clouded by cataracts

There born an unknown form
Snaked paint and confused lines
Weave Abstracted and fevered visions
Holding back tears the artist mourns its life in passing
Though in this moment the artist’s harrowed breathing slows

Years pass in days
Children are born and grow old
The product of creation
Waiting to be found
A heap of bones feet away
Unmissed, unmourned
The canvas gathering dust
Its worth fading with sentiment
Though time endears all things
And be it treasure or trash
Painted with panted gasps
That piece was for its maker
And those who may simply see it
For its shapes and forms
Never for the life poured
Into its basin
Are blind to the beauty
Of the moment of birth
All art is nothing
But death given abstract form

Polyphony еще тексты