A maN_OBRA: dezembro 2004

segunda-feira, dezembro 20, 2004

Noite escura
O teu abraço é frio
E eu claustrofóbico

A luz do luar confunde-me
E o som do silêncio
Ensurdece-me em assombro

A tua brisa gélida
Reconforta um coração
Que de calor não pode viver

Só no teu seio me sinto ajustado
Porque a minha sombra é dissimulada
Pela treva do vácuo
E não é mácula
Mas parte.

When you look around
Only to find
There's nothing to choose
When you search
IN vain
For some sense of purpose
When worthwhile
Sound like
A word of comfort
You get tired of searching
And so you learn to find.

Lucubro, contrito, no nosso amor
E o meu pesar é auto-infligido

O teu acendrar usurpador
Consumiu-me em fictícia benesse

A minha complacência esgotou-me
E o teu coração sentiu a gelidez

O desalento instalou-se e, sendo mútuo,
Corrompeu-nos e conspurcou o nosso mundo

O romance abandonou-me e agora
Todo eu sou pedra

Hey!!!!!!

Comentem!
Não me venham dizer que gostaram muito...
Que é isso?
Escrevam...

Rebirth

Reflections are turning blue.
I dream of youth.
Starlight shows in the gloom
But only for a second.
I long for absolution.
I pray for release.
Half-empty vases
Torment my inner being,
Foment the truth
That never was
And never will
For as long as there's a gulp of air in my lungs.
My will is plastic now,
My heart unbreakable.
All illness,
oNCE HERE TO STAY,
iS NOW A BLUR,
a DISTANT MEMORY.
aNNOYING Noise
Crawls through my sleep
Infests my dreams,
controls my actions...
And no one will recall.
I promise
Here and now
This is the last time
I'll abandon myself.
OUtside in the cold
A flower blossoms
Blooms
And marvels all still life around.

I rocked my cradle
And stressed me open
Instead of a butterfly
I found only space,
Yet to be filled.
In essence
Existence became nothing
Up could be down
Black might be white
All truth may well unfold as a lie.
Full sheets of empty canvas.
Waiting for that painter
That creating astonishment
All the bliss and grievance in a bottle.

Rewind to re-record,
Repair mistakes,
Twist me around,
Turn me inside out,
Auction my heart and soul
But keep complete control
To keep dreaming I'm alive.

Castaway

I've been shutout.
Been left outside.
Nobody knows.
Nobody cares.

I'm unaligned
I insurrect
Against all patterns
I thought for honesty
And still I hope
Marching alone
That some day
All the spiritual casualties
Will have a meaning

Nobody knows my way
Nobody tells me what to do
No colour, no gods, no sin
I'm unaligned...

The day will come
When all the angels
Will hold on to their wings
Before falling away

Mr Angel
This is my advice to you
It's a warning
I urge you, sir, to take some action.

For all us mortals,
Save yourself,
To keep our hope
In something better.

Cause when an angel
Can't fly away
And so be free
There's sure no hope for the rest of us.

quarta-feira, dezembro 08, 2004

Feeling blue...

Every time you leave
My heart feels like it’s going to cave in
And I just feel like crying

The second you leave
My soul instantly fills with to leave me empty
And I just need to cry

Anyway you leave
I know I’ll end up hurt
But I let you flee because boys just don’t cry

Still…

For every time you went away
It wasn’t long until you were back
In my arms safe and sound
And then my heart would rest
My soul could flow again
And though I know this
And I know you
I know myself
And so I’m sure you’ll leave again
To leave me miserable
And I’ll just have to cry...

i am a scenester!

How indie are you? test by ridethefader
You are so indie it hurts. You hang out with the coolest people in your city. It doesn't even bother you that none of them know your name. You know lots of bands personally, you know a couple of guys from We Hate The Mainstream Records, and you blag your way into getting almost everything for free. That fanzine you write gives you extra kudos. You probably don't even care that non-scenesters think you're a pretentious fuck.
avantegarde
You're Avante Garde Indie. You listen to abstract
music like free-jazz and Krautrock. You drink
too much coffee and you scare the fuck out of
the rest of us. We're afraid to call you
pretentious because we know that we all just
don't get it. There are few of you out there,
and most of you will probably die soon.

You Know Yer Indie. Let's Sub-Categorize.
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