1. |
Armada
04:58
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Dead eyes just peek out from the helms
Ready to fulfill the designs of the gods
with its discharge of fury over the men
Always alert, continually on the prowl
in the dark jaws of uncertainty season
his axes cut off the extremities of reason.
Protected by the law of non-humans being
Their shields separate the truth from pain.
Relentless spectres with no names
Motivated by the promise of blood
They follow the fear’s trail
Until the end of the worms.
Marching on the mystical path of the condemned
The ferocious armada drags laments and prayers.
Collecting the fire of the gray souls
who still try redeem themselves in their martyrdom
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2. |
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The pages burn with the oxygen that you inhale
It extinguishes the fragile fire that offers this flame
Long hours or ephemeral centuries remain ahead
the exile will be eternal or fleeting the sigh ...
The pages are still written with the ink that you spill
The clove are spread on the timber that you venerate
They wait with flesh and bone be mixed, to see the wood split
And you as martyr exhibiting your obscene humanity.
Fanfares are usually lacking in the place where you intend to go
they usually hide the reasons for the spilled blood
blood that under the same sky those cloves have corroded
and the wicked, sinners, has drowned ...
Tell me, answer me, now and forever if you have understood,
If you have corroborated it in flesh
How many spots you have on your skin in the name of thousands of names,
How many brands endowed with the indelible ink of time,
donated by those who perished for those many names ...
Tell me, answer me, now and for eternity if you've seen it
if your pupils have illuminated reflecting that image,
unique and valuable revealing image of why ...
Be dazzled now that you can see ...
Now that you finally try to see ...
with the last sigh of the flame
with the last line of your farce
The image you hope to see never appears
It is veiled before each blink of your dead eyes
The price of the body and blood has already been paid
And the salvation you expected never appears.
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3. |
Yule Horror
04:40
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There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen
hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance
round a Yule- altar fungous and white.
To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
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4. |
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Extipicium La Falda, Argentina
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