1. |
Ozymandian
06:41
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In rapid decline of the future
A chimera is about to step in
Will my incorruptibility be a surprise to the vultures
That are meant to starve - unnourished, astonished and thin
Is something here?
What's the cold, ghastly breath
Sowing shivers onto my neck?
It was a lie right from the start -
Utopias dreamt while sleeping in the open grave
The future has grown within my flesh to the size of a cathedral
And my inner strength will never allow it to fall
To see what’s behind the wall of death you need just a pillar
When knife cuts the heart - corpse turns into stone
But what's the cold, ghastly breath
Sowing shivers onto my neck?
It was a lie right from the start -
Utopias dreamt while sleeping in the open grave
Spare me one more dawn
for the ghosts to hear my prayers out
Opressed by painful doubts, tentacles and rats
spare me one more dawn
Is something here?
Rescusitating rotten corpse
Buried knee deep in snowy mud
Blackest mouth, highest hopes
Sprinkling the putrid flesh with golden dust
But what's the cold, ghastly breath
Sowing shivers onto my neck
It was a lie right from the start -
Utopias dreamt while sleeping in the open grave
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2. |
Golem
07:52
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I wish I was a labyrinth consciously set on fire, never to be bored a second in my life
Blessed to reach the land
Self-cursed to sail a barely breathing wreckage through the sea of ruins and ash
Blessed to find the settlement...
...with roofless, idle pillars and walls encrusted with veins, with desolated signposts leading
To the very center of formlessness
Like a corpse that breathes, a witness without eyes
Running with scissors - rusty and sharp
Through desolated arcades to kill our livid time, through halls of faceless monuments
Casting no shadows in greyness of polar nights
Like a corpse that breathes, a witness without eyes
Running with scissors - rusty and sharp
I wish I was the wind that blows around here, in the monumental halls painted verdigris
I wish I was the blood of its deepest vasculars and expanding cracks of the collapsed domes
I wish I was...
In love with the void, involved in the fall
Taking a step
Forward
In love with the void, veil cyan and cold
Mesmerised parade goes
Onwards
In love with the void, involved in the fall
Taking a step
Forward
In love with the void
That grows within the soul
Mesmerised parade goes
Onwards
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3. |
Waves of Concrete
01:27
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4. |
Deathdreamer
05:25
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In the grey shrines district
The possession is taking a place
Cement shoes driving consciousness to the riverbed of spirits
A forced visit in the white theater
Filled with wax figures from the purgatory morgue
And the steep cliffs in the derelict, remote outskirts of being
And the gallows made of marble,
And the library of intrusive thoughts
Reading whispering chants to sleep for the horrible nightmares to come
It is a morphine for the vigilante
Like a cave once locked with a stone
Like Bermuda Triangle of thorns for a lost, wayfaring soul
Butchered by the night - a lump of flesh being just a sculpture
Carved by its black, starry knives
Robbed of all the light - a lump of flesh consisting of
Shivers and gouged out eyes
If there is fire at the hospice
I'm resilient to see
Sink deep
Bones dissolve in the caustic ordeal
If there is fire at the hospice
I stay silent and dream
breathe deep
Skin dissolves in the linen of guilt
A shroud on the eyelids
A brickwall too thick
How does it feel like
Deathdreamer, asleep?
A whispering cataract
With a promise to keep
Does it feel feverish
Deathdreamer, asleep?
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5. |
Hollow
07:53
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Now I swim through the neons
High on light, tied in wires
Dressed in concrete, paint is scraping off, painters sleep
I hear farewells through the phone calls
Crying voltage, soundproof walls, breeding windows into chessboards
Endless patterns
In deadline air -
Does workday die with dusk?
Or just the future plans die with dawn?
Heart failures, soul failures
Calling an angelwinged ambulance
Floor texture, blood pressure
Drunk saviour
There is no question if the ghosts exist – you are ghosts
And so are we
Heart failures, soul failures
Calling an angelwinged ambulance
Floor texture, blood pressure
Drunk saviour
Infusion of fire in dead veins
The Earth is hollow
And so are we.
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6. |
Autotomy
04:59
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It is not a fire
that falls off the sky
These are not comets
under the lid of the eye
It is not a plague
that causes the rash
It is not contagious
in the lazaret for one
It is not a tragedy
if no one else saw the blood
It is not a disaster
if it blasts underground
It is not bad news
if it's not news at all
It is not an epitaph
as the breath's not the word
It is a shiny light of pleroma
Cutting its rays off
Banishing limbs
From the body
Into the exile
As limbs hold themselves tight while falling
Like it was a flesh of
A disintegrating
Petrified reptile
...and as the wild drum of the pulse hits its last notes, you are closer to the truth
It is not the world that is dying, it is you
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7. |
Gardermoen
04:03
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Where have I gone?
Jericho, Nostromo, Umeå, Moscow
A-Bomb, cold soul
Warsaw - Oslo
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8. |
Car Kruków
05:54
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There is a big tree near my house.
And every day about 5 AM dozens of crows come here and sit at that
tree, which makes it look almost like a huge black smear.
I tend to wake up at around 5 AM, so I go watch
them for a while, and return to bed after a few minutes.
And I often have a dream of this kind:
In my dream, I wake up because of ravens that wait at that tree for me to come,
and they order me to look for the tzar of ravens because he wants to see me.
So I dress up and walk out to my street. I walk like this for some time, and,
suddenly, I see some huge, massive spotlight... only it emits darkness instead of light.
I head towards it, and, suddenly, I’m in the woods
And so I walk among the trees, and, all at once, I see the tzar of ravens.
He strolls right there... slowly, holding his hands
on his back. He has a human-like body, slightly hunched,
and he wears a raven mask on his face. I know
he wanted to see me but I am too scared to leave my cover,
thus I only stare at him walking away. And so
I stand there like an idiot not knowing what to do,
and after a moment I can hear some moaning.
I realize that I am surrounded by ghosts wailing of sorrow,
I don’t know, of pain? Children, maybe?
So I run away from that place,
I run through the woods until I finally reach a huge beautiful glade
in the middle of which stands a palace.
Yet, at the line between the forest and that glade, the same ravens that ordered me to look
for the tzar sit on the corpse of a man.
I want to go to the castle but they tell me that in order to enter I
need to die first. So I tell them it is not the time yet but they insist.
And I repeat over and over again
"It is not the time yet...
It is not the time..."
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Hauntologist Kraków, Poland
Deeply rooted in negative metal music, it leans toward other genres and forms of expression to seek analogue musical sounds of sleepless nights and surreal, anxiety-provoking hallucinations.
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