Na insanidade tudo é arte, tudo é desalmado e incendiado !

Death and life, stranded on my eyes

a glimpse of grimness

a vision of decay

touch my skin, touch my soul

leave me in the mountains

these lands are old, and so is my soul

but the heart here will be buried

on ice and frozen dirt

touch my blood, and feel my hunger

it consumes everything around me like hot lava flowing down towards mankind
screaming for more, burning inside.

Madness restrained by a tearless moon of witchcraft and savage beauty
and a warming sun of craving grimness.

__________________________________________________________________________

Six moons have died
Since the witch took the blood from my heart
Now she feels sorrow , now her breath stops
She drank my blood to feel my life
But for others it is poison in disguise
I lay dead and so does she
Like we where meant to be
My lips draw a smile
Finally dead not alive
I see my brother calling me
finally out of this misery
and again next to him
like we where meant to be.
________________________________________________________
I stand here now
under the black rain
With a sorrowed heart
In my hand a bloody knife
Screaming for your name
Waiting For The Day Our Blood Binds The Three Of Us
For us are no longer four
Only three lost
In the middle of mankind
Tell me now
Should I face my blood brother
Without a link to his kindred
Or should I fade away like he did at his own time?
Union came Union went
Building it is now my quest
Burning inside like the eternal fire that is my soul.
A promise was made, a brotherhood was
forged
It will be forever
In my heart, in my eyes
Until my soul dies
________________________________________________________

Change,in blood and insanity
In my eyes the mirror
Death and hate
Hunger for more
Souls at ragnarok fighting for survival
Honor dead at their feet
Burning will
Iced hearts
It Arises once again
hands of the right beheading fools
and of the left waiting for the call
Justice with iron and blood
Marching trough the corpses
Slain tongues of 1000 serpents
No excuse, only death
In my arms the scars of the bite
no more, it ends here.

________________________________________________________

we are the brothers ...
of destruction and hate
of fire and ice
We are the one..s who feed of anger
Surrounded of darkness and light
our hearts burst in flames
war is upon us
we are the one..s
Listen to the ravens
they talk of our coming
Branded my skin
Carved my soul
War is upon us
We will kill them all
_________________________

The witch has come
she follows me

it has began

I will choke in my own blood
a ravenous coil of darkness enraging in my mind
this is the way of the misanthrope

The witch has come
she feeds of me

Tear my skin and bones
In my eyes I see stars falling at my feet
its the return of sinful sons

the witch has come
she sets me free

the sleep has gone, time to reveal
tyrants inside me, they forge my soul

Touch my hand little one, feel my blood
destroy and reborn again.

___________________________

Não tenho palavras ou espaço para comentar tudo o que num breve segundo passa pelo minha mente, assombra-me esta lua que me gela o coração, que me relembra a minha natureza e que tanto transtorno, e por ironia, alegria me causa.

Ando para um lado e para o outro com os meus sentimentos, sempre á merce de outrem, quase como se de meus nada tivessem, mas assim saceio eu esta minha fome de agonia e descrença, de compaixão e compreensão, nesta alma dividida há muito com a lua que me assombra.

Bom.
Da tua autoria?

Aqui fica um na mesma onda de Hristo Botev:

Citação :

My Prayer

O my God, my righteous God.
Not you, in heaven apart,
but you, who are within me, God -
within my soul and heart…

Not you, to whom the holy priests
and monks must genuflect
and all of orthodoxy's beasts
light tapers in respect;

not you, who once created man
and woman from the dirt,
then allowed their human clan
to be as slaves on earth;

not you, who have anointed kings,
popes, patriarchs and others,
and abandoned to their suffering
all the poor, my brothers;

not you, who but instruct the slave
by calm and prayer to cope
and then sustain him to the grave
upon his empty hopes;

not you, the true God of the cruel,
the liers and the sham,
not you, the idol of the fools
and the enemies of man.

But you, God of the human mind,
defender of the slave;
it soon shall be that all mankind
shall celebrate your day.

O God, inspire in every man
a love of liberty
that they may fight as best they can
the people' enemies.

Make powerful this hand of mine
for the rising of the slaves;
I'll join them at the battle-line
that I may find my grave.

Do not let this stormy heart
grow cold in foreign lands,
let not my voice in silence pass
as if through desert sands.

http://www.slovo.bg/old/f/en/botev/myprayer.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hristo_Botev

Averróis escreveu:

Bom.
Da tua autoria?

Sim tudo da minha autoria , já são coisas antigas, já deram letras para musica mas depois não deu em nada,enfim

Boa leitura por estes lados, faz-me lembrar a conversa que tivemos ontem no chat, mas provavelmente nada em que eu me deva meter.


Averróis, esse poema também está bastante interessante, sobre a subjectividade das coisas...

Eu infelizmente devo estar a passar uma das fases mais desinspiradas da minha vida. Ou isso ou o meu cérebro apodreceu de vez.