Letras

(estamos organizando essa seção ainda, seguem-se algumas das letras)


LET’S BE NATURE’S MISCARRIAGE (do álbum “1250 ml”)

I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
stumbling over many bodies as in warfields
invading the scenes of crime

Let’s be nature’s miscarriage
let our lacklustre eyes aim deep
let’em flow with pleasure and embarrassment
Scuttling across the doors of silent seas.

there’s so much interest in death
if fun means choking on your vomit
people’s eyes will see only your skull
under your soft rosy skin

elders praise in loud hosannas
for all the paces they have given
passive idolaters making up malingers
excuses to their own self-misgiving
today’s death-drive crystallized in a culture
of longing for the apocalypse

Let’s be nature’s miscarriage
miscarriage, miscarriage


IDEOLOGEMA (do álbum “1250 ml”)

Quero ver povos guerrearem       – por uma política mais ordeira
separação de cor e classe               – dos produtos na prateleira
quero completa extinção               – da solidão na minha vida
quero campos de concentração  – para pessoas distraídas

quero igualdade e compreensão     – ainda que nenhum valor eu tenha
os mesmos direitos de todos            – e me alienar conforme eu queira
nós todos juntos de mãos dadas     – pelo pavor que haja contenda
onde enfim reine o amor                    – mas ódio nunca foi o problema


LIKE A MAN WHO HAD TO PASS THE SAME WAY TWICE TO CAST A SHADOW (do álbum “1250 ml”)

How canny of you to notice
how hard I tried to guess your age
and decipher traces you’ve left
among scattered remains

This may be a problem for others
though I can’t stand to keep the pace
when life floats on the void
and stands unanswered ahead of me

(chorus)
(and I could guess) — the way you feel
(and ignore) — what future certainly brings
(and can avoid) — to see you on the verge of tears
and keep love as dead-remain

(and I could guess) — the things you’ll promise me
amidst this ‘boy meets girl’ thing
(and I wouldn’t ask) — for another 30 years
to perform this over & over again

Like the man who had to pass the same way twice to cast a shadow
Like the man who had to pass the same way twice to cast a shadow

An uneasy tension sets in
a thought that only love can end
it’s because God is dead
we can glorify his empty name

It isn’t simply a question
of exhausting life/sex/energy
abjuring inertia by acts
before it is too late

(repeat chorus)

Like the man who had to pass the same way twice to cast a shadow
Like the man who had to pass the same way twice to cast a shadow


REVULSION TOOK OVER THE SKIES (do álbum “1250 ml”)

there’s a strange creature  moving under my skin
living off my memory in tender steps it once came to me
and it said: “it is happening again”
proceeded to wind up  clocks and eras
and revulsion takes over the skies

holes in my feet were stitched with steel
it gave me feelings to express
words to curse and years to last

I cursed all gold and silver
I took a way so I could reach
the very same departing place
broke laws for new amendments
and gave myself away (to the care of foes)
slept toward new awakenings

it gave me feelings to express
words to curse and years to last
I cursed all gold and silver
laid in bed, tried thousandfold false awakenings

holes in my feet were stitched with steel
it shed my tears for me
it dreamt my lucid dreams
felt the shame of everlasting fantasies…

every age crowded to the seats of worship
and curse all gold and silver
each moment rehearses the dawn of the seven solar systems

the pendulum of the universe
sways by force of denial
whilst distant lovers vainly whisper
trembling hands crept about the dial
“it is happening again”
“it is happening again”


A VULGAR PLACE CALLED HOME (do álbum “1250 ml”)

a pire at sight was burning as we arrived in June
from a long sojourn in the fields of groaning, rape and doom
and yet that young in form,  bright in mind, the legs yet strong
we celebrate our glories as the only thing we have become

it pours down day and night
a voice shrills from the void inside
and lurks for a better time to burst
our heads in plain daylight

a dream that keeps avoidin’ me and yet I await it for so long
through gleaming patterns shaped on soil where the grass still grows
silence imposes its presence among those of unknown goals
strange rhythm sets our pace each word spelled …
preludes our choke!

I wake up bathed on sweat and long for a new day to come

what you’re seeking is near,  it’ll hunt in the years to come
tracing your steps you’ll find a reverse image
of yourself undermining the path of your own…

the so-called distant land where all wonders and beauty dwell
where life starts over about which I hear the old folks tell
they welcome me, and seem so glad  I finally came home
and yet I feel uneasy for knowing that the time has come

the goal was reached, in all its wonder, this place I won’t ‘gain find
a place matched with the longing I’ve been nourishing for times

tomorrow, I fear it’ll show up itself as a vulgar place called ‘home’


JAZ, NO SOL DA MEIA-NOITE (do álbum “1250 ml”)

Jaz o corpo isolado
Jaz a transfiguração da carnificna
Jaz o corpo nobre d’um soldado
Jaz a morte do estado;

Jaz a alegoria chamuscada
Jaz a pneumonia funcional
Jaz almas tísicas na escada
Jaz a euforia transexual;

Jaz o sino das seis horas
Jaz a calamidade das rosas
Jaz o orgulho neural
Jaz a trilogia anal
Jaz o ponteiro afiado
Jaz a morte que rodeia
Jaz o terceiro amado
Jaz o quarto de platina permeia;

Jaz o monstro
Jaz o monstro do pântano

Jaz, é o terceiro amado
Jaz tem Treze anos.


URBAN FLEET (do DVD “Johnny Covardia & the disposable heroes of hypocrisy”)

each night unfolds as the first in a way
I beg for your acquaintance – and do you know why?
‘cos all I’ve learnt so far in life
I did by getting permifried

we face each other impassibly,
like adults with fear for the first time
crawling out of the sewers, seeking alleways
leaving timespan set to run backwards

you either set out being more permisive
about yourself, or you can let hours run
to weigh the facts within an unleashed
stream of causes and accidents


THE HIV GENERATION (do álbum “1250 ml”)

‘Ere the mud cover those who held those charms
they’ll confine themselves in self-decepting seclusion
For it wasn’t evildoers, but only Time
who defiled the image of their hopes as pure delusion

we live out of the field we have to burn
the sowing ground which covers our future
dull heads among windy space await in line
for trains, for antique hopes, brand new solutions

“These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
With pungent sauces, multiply variety in a wilderness of mirrors.

What will the spider do, Suspend its operations?
Will the weevil… delay?

if I name the ones closer to be called ‘my people’
they’re ones who envy those who wait for nothing
confortably satisfied in a state of stoical
avoidance of all motion, order

who sacrifice their passions
so as to avoid to be balked
keeping clear that old dull idea in mind
that it’s better for the seed not to flourish
than to develop, and then to be cropped

old truths are either functional or filthy lies
all growth announces a henious stench of tumor
a whole generation clearly overstepped the line
our fathers drawned between terror and sense of humor

we live out of the field we have to burn
the sowing ground which covers our future
dull heads among windy space await in line
for trains, for antique hopes, brand new solutions


MEMENTO MORI (de “Monges descolados” EP)

Oito eras glaciais
sobre as costas d’um planeta
culminaram – que milagre –
e’nossa débil existência

e se o mundo é mesmo um disco
o bardo é quem canta a vida –
mesmo sendo um maltrapilho
esgolea à luz do dia

feitos de nobres donzelas
as ironias desta vida
pois não’há nada sobre a terra
que não toque sua lira

plano d’um bilhão de anos
reensaia a natureza
após bons setenta anos
você morre com certeza!

e se o mundo pára
de girar num belo dia
é sinal que eu estava certo
e que ele sempre esteve ébrio!

viva vida d’trás pra frente
mortos e vivos de mãos dadas
vão banhados em aguardente
saltitando até a vala!

só não canta aquele príncipe
confinado em seu forte
se em seus olhos há fastio
é porque não está de porre!

e não canta o jovem esteta
que vê no amor uma esperança
não’há pior DST
que uma gorda criança!

e pobre do jovem padre
na solidão de sua cela
repreende os cães que latem
e que cruzam sobre relva

e se o mundo pára
de girar num belo dia
é sinal que eu estava certo
e que ele sempre esteve ébrio!


COUNTER-CLOCKWISE UPRISING (do álbum “1250 ml”)
Time is getting dressed und undressed
eating and sleeping not actions but words
time has been definely suppressed
by lack of time – full schedules
hanging on the board
– synthetizing exigences, setting priorities,
not out of inspirational outbursts and gathered grasp of life – but
in black              ink
making us feel necessary,
making us feel alive

and now it’s reserving 5 and a half minutes per day
to stare at mirroring reflection of its face
while it’s still time;
to check scratches – swells,
pregnancy and put down
– reorganize its mind, take a breath,
rehearse a couple of inspirational words for moments alike – but
in black                ink
to make us feel necessary,
to make us feel alive
till the point it’ll be again time
to bend over the horizon
to force some meaning
out of inert whiteness of rooms
as the ones where we born
– as the vault we’ll be gone,
I’m still conscient, just thinking the best we do is to put it behind us – but
the blank              see
not as we repeated mechanically when it was still time
not all problematic resolutions are a matter of loosing up


ANDROGINIA (do álbum “The Leather Hectorama”)

Todos os que pensam ocultistamente reúnem em um absoluto todo um sistema do universo que fecunda o nada e abre porta a vários sistemas do universo, todos eles reais
“Meu destino pertence a outra lei”

Para o estonteante milagre da comunhão a ética laboratorial parece ter sido esquecida nos experimentos que criam ratos com orelhas humanas
onde está a cura do pensamento? onde estiveram os sapos sem cabeça?

Algumas imagens reais são tão absurdas e provocam tanto desconforto que nos faz cuspir toda a ética para fora e pisá-la como esterco
não toque no que você não conhece
não lamba a careca pela quimioterapia
não se misture com incubadores virais
não seja cúmplice do estonteante milagre da transmutação
de um absurdo dimorfismo sexual


FASCINATION (do álbum “The Leather Hectorama”)

Awakening Id
as if the withering flowers were growing on your mind
and a million sparks were revolving inside
fell like I’ll face it all over again


ROAD TO BABYLON (based on ‘Puffrock Love Song’ by T.S.Eliot) (do bootleg “Live in Sta Adelia”)

Let us go now,
‘cause this course leads to Babylon
so pack and leave while it’s still time

If you stumble on us
it’ll be in run-down hotels
where laughter still mingles
with the most dreary whines

Let us go now,
for the causes that matter:
to see evening spreading out
against the sky

If you stumble on us
it’ll be in run-down hotels
where dads hump their children
rats rest under piles

And indeed there will be time
for the smoke to slide along the street,
To prepare a face to meet all the faces
we use to meet

There will be time to murder
as there’ll be time to create,
And all time necessary for the works and days of hands

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
for the most horrid sights one can see
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of the tea.

to disturb order o’ the universe
Time to turn back and descend the stair
for convictions to weaken, and for duties
a minute will reverse

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
So how should I presume?
If each and every answer lies beneath the music
from a farther room…?

[repeat]

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

a pire at sight w

as burning
as we arrived in June
from a long sojourn in the fields
of groaning, rape and doom

and yet that young in form,
bright in mind, the legs yet strong
we celebrate our glories
as the only thing we have become

it pours down day and night
a voice shrills from the void inside
and lurks for a better time to burst
our minds in plain* daylight

a dream that keeps avoidin’ me
and yet I await it for so long
through gleaming patterns shaped on soil
where the grass still grows

silence impose its presence
among those of unknown goals
strange rhythm sets our pace
each word spelled …
preludes our choke!


[amidst dreams about the mystery of reserving nearness]
I wake up bathed on sweat
and long for a new day to come

what you’re seeking is near,
it’ll hunt in the years to come
tracing your steps you’ll find
a reverse image …
of yourself undermining the path of your own…

the so-called distant land
where all wonders and beauty dwell
where life starts over
about which I hear the old folks tell

they welcome me, and seem so glad
I finally came home
and yet I feel uneasy
for knowing that the time has come

the goal was reached, in all its wonder,
this place I won’t ‘gain find
a place matched with the longing
I’ve been nourishing for times

tomorrow, I fear it’ll show up itself as
a vulgar place called ‘home’

comentários
  1. SHOKER disse:

    VCS PRECISAM PARAR MENINAS … CADE O EMPREGO, CARREIRA E FILHOS. Sera mesmo que todos vcs não vão crescer nunca … fica a dica !!! obrigado meninas

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