Sade

Wir glaubten nie, wir sein am leben
Und doch der Tod verschonte uns
Kein Gedanke schenkt die Gunst
Benennt dies Welt, die kalten Reben
Die vom Grunde sich erstrecken
Und unser Sein im Schwarz verstecken
Als wären wir niemals geboren
Ein reiner Streich der Phantasie
Als hätte sich die Welt verschworen
Und den Menschen gab es nie

Und sei es so, ich würd es lieben
Umarmen würd ich diese Welt
Wir hätten keine Seel vertrieben
Hätten niemanden gequält
Der Himmel künde keine Träne
Das Federkleid nicht blutverklebt
Das Licht würd sich nach Sünde sehnen
Wie’s im reinsten Herzen lebt

Doch ist’s nicht wahr, ich fühl es noch
Zu tief ist dieses alte Loch
Aus dem sich niemand bergen kann
Ein Zustand zwischen jetzt und dann
Das aller Menschen Kinder liebt
Und uns’rer Tat sodann vergibt
Die sich durch unser Leben streckt
Und spottend das Gewissen neckt
Ach wär dies Welt ein Reich der Träume
Der Tod wär jedem Menschen fern
Es gäbe keine kahlen Bäume
Doch hätten wir dies wirklich gern

Wir leben nicht, wir sterben nicht
Und künden jedem Angesicht
Dass man es ehrt, die Meinung schätzt
Bevor der Neid es dann zerfetzt
Das Streben stirbt, und resigniert
Denn alles steht am Anfang fest
Das Geben wirbt, kapituliert
Und gibt dies Reich final den Rest

„Zum Glück wars nur ein kalter Raum
Ein Märchental, ein finstrer Traum
Wir streben wachsam durch die Zeit
Bis zum Ende gibst Geleit
Und küssen jeden neuen Tag
Aus Angst man könnt ihn nicht mehr sehn
Tanzen durch das Sonnenlicht.
Bis wir am Ende dankend gehen.“
Geschwächt erhebe ich mein Herz,
Der Traum hat mir an Kraft genommen
Und trage mich zum Fensterkreuz,
um ihn vor Freude zu begrüßen
Die Sonne schweigt, der Himmel weint
Und liegt dem Menschen nun zu Füßen

„Er wird geboren, bis er zerbricht
Sie leben nicht, sie sterben nicht
Ich bin allein in dies Geschicht
Sie leben nicht, sie sterben nicht

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Stop Signs

Its all stop signs, its all lines that shouldn't be crossed,

Its all interpretations that have been lost in translation,

Even when the meaning has been embossed on something that redefines stop signs.

Something that erases and redraws lines for all the times curiosity gets the better of us.

But until it gets the best, we test the lines, until it gets the best, its all stop signs.

And then there's you.

And I wanna kiss you, so bad, I'd be willing to cut off my own head and just throw it toward your lips.

And you would be well within your rights to just swat it to the floor.

But I'd redefine hardcore, lying there at the tips of your toes because god knows I'd be trying to figure out some way to roll towards them.

And maybe thats crossing the line.

Maybe thats a little creepy. Did I mention that I like you?

And if I knew you better than I do I'd probably know that creepy isn't the way to go so hows this?

I wanna kiss you, like a traffic jam. I wanna move slow. I wanna stop and go like I know at least I'm moving towards you.

And there's no use weaving through the gridlock because every clock keeps ticking and tocking.

If only theres time for all the amazing in between thats been seen and heard and each word has passed between us like somewhere with someone to go, and I know I hardly know you, so lets go slow.

Like a turtle with a purpose.

Lets not miss a single minute, because every sixty seconds contained within the nearly two hundred times I've tried to coax each smile to bloom into a laugh

And the exact science of math can't begin to calculate half the time it would take to make misery turn itself into a punch line.

One thats willing to mine past silver and gold just looking for something to tell you thats never been told.

I wanna hold you like mine were the last arms in the world. I want them curled around you like the red and white stripes on a barbers pole, I wanna give you a lump of coal for Christmas and tell you in a million years, its going to be a diamond.

And will you wait for me 'till then?

Because thats when I'll be evolved enough to melt all the other brains of men on earth.

And maybe I've got a shot if all that remains are two gazelles in the Serengeti plains and me.

Of course, if you're willing to make sweet sweet love with animals... I'll totally understand.

I'm good like that.

I'll band together with whatever vegetation is left living.

Me three weeds and a rubber plant will spend thanksgiving saying how grateful we are that you're happy.

I want you to feel like that banana peel in a Charlie Chaplin shoot.

Cause its you that brings the house of this heart down.

Its you thats the Chamber of Commerce in a town thats got nothing to offer but everything everyone can't find everywhere else under the sun.

I'm done with all of the every-that.

I'm done thinking about where it is I'm going, I'm figuring out where it is I'm at.

And that has got to be beside the one who will stop me from trying to calculate the sum total of someone, as if this biological calculus has ever done anything for me.

Other than be the something that keeps me seeking to solve problems that don't exist.

Like a swat team sharpshooter with cataracts, I've missed the point more times than certain Americans have been elected to the Oval Office.

Which is always... once too often.

And lets face it, sometimes... two times too many.

But this time, I'm willing to pay interest on the penny for your thoughts.

Mortgage my mind, finance an expedition that will be find me a better way to get to know you, because I've read through the short story of my life and found that your name stands out on the page.

Your slightest look unlocks the tumblers on my ribcage.

And you can gage my sincerity when I lift my heart towards you and tell you in a million years, we will be less than dust. The slightest gust will blow it away.

But you'll have to listen to wind chimes say that you're still worth waiting for.

Don't tell me your not beautiful.

You're the kind of beautiful the blind would see if we could figure out some way to give them three seconds of sight.

When you tell me your not gorgeous I wanna pop out your left eye, and show it to your right.

Worth crossing whatever distance it would take.

Worth building bridges just to make a connection.

Because I've been secretly stealing stop signs. Repainting traffic lines so I can only go one way.

Because as far as I can tell, dedication is the better part of foreplay. And I admit it I am committed to everything I've done, I did it to make you smile because its been the largest part of a long while since I had someone do that for me.

You feel like comedy after three years of being on the bandwagon of calamity.

And I can't be bothered with the tragedy of not trying to get to know you.

I've been through enough wretchedness to know that some flowers can still grow through garbage, and you make me wanna take up gardening.

I've seen sadness drain the spirit out of this history, but the worst is yet to come.

Anyone who took the time to get to know me knows I don't run, partly because I'm not athletic, but mostly because thats life and I've met it head on.

I've gone the distance more times than George Lucas has looked at jar Jar Binks and thought, "FUCK".

And until I fit the bill, I will still fill my days trying because I'm yours. From the bottom, to the top.

And I'm not just saying I'll be here for you, I'm saying I'll never stop.

IKM, TML

In my last mourning I realize, I've always been the nothing I feared becoming...

I am the Wooden Doors

When all is withered and torn
And all has perished and fallen
These great wooden doors shall remain closed. . .

When the heart is a grave filled with blood
And the soul is a cold and haunted shell of lost hope
When the voice of pride has been silenced
And dignity's fires are but cinders
. . .their grandeur shall remain untainted

It is this grandeur that protects the spirit within
From the plight of this broken world, from the wounds in her song
I wish to die with my will and spirit intact
The will that inspired me to write these words
Seek not the fallen to unlock these wooden doors

Arise to this Mourning

No blood red sky,

no colour left in this world,

these halls shrouded in black,

halls of dust,

so empty and cold.

Thy Light

Remove society from this world. Remove every idea, thought, dream, and hope and retain a world left untouched. Replace the sun with utter darkness, replace sound with silence and emotion with apathy. Now take this unscathed world and place upon it Paulo, a damp, cold basement, several instruments, and utter solitude. This is exactly the type of atmosphere Thy Lights second demo evokes on us. Utter solitude. This album takes us to the deepest parts of our minds we never thought existed, to doors never noticed, rooms never lit.

This demo is one of the few that I own that can create such an atmosphere that I honestly need human interaction afterwards just to know I'm alive. The beginning of the demo opens with a beautiful piano passage, a bloodstained door opening inwards revealing a downward spiral of stairs. The sound of boards creaking and trembling as you begin your descent, the unknown darkness entwines itself around you, grasping and clawing at your body as it drags you inwards. Sorrow engulfs your mind, your thoughts clouded by endless dreams of desperation and pain. The piano introduction sets the mood, like a perfect movie trailer it foreshadows what lies ahead instead of presenting the forthcoming material. Like the calming of ashes after a midnight blaze, the fuzzy reverberation echoes in the darkness as the introduction comes to a close. A trepidation of senses, an exorcism of aesthetic qualities, the deprivation of hope and meaning. The second song is magnificently spell bounding and probably the best song of the demo. A mournful atmosphere only attained through death, a recording of such despair and hopelessness, I cannot understand how this man is still alive. He perfectly conveys his elegy, his cycle of life, the futility of dreams and ineffectiveness of human progression.

Instrumentally, the album is quite simplistic. Drums are nothing worth noting, simple beats repeated throughout never once overbearing the song or playing too subtle. The guitar tone is perfect, cold and bleak, melancholic and mournful. The melodies are beautiful, the solos are haunting and prodigious, and the overwhelming emotion strummed into each note is breathtaking. The vocals are in a world of their own. Harrowing shrieks of desperation and grief shaking the very facade you cower behind, your mourning walls collapse. They are honestly the single greatest part of this demo, absolutely devastating in every aspect. His hatred and solitude being channeled through his voice into the very depths of your soul, wrapping itself around your heart and thrusting itself inside. They sound human, not superficial or blatantly altered in anyway. The production is what you'd expect from an underground black metal artist, but not horrible by any means. The fuzzy feedback adds to the atmosphere of desolation, as clean production would absolutely destroy it.

A despondent aggregation of isolation and reclusiveness, this demo is beyond words. It is more than a simple black metal release spawned by children with face paint and black clothes. It is the story of solitude, the effects of loneliness, and the garnered respect for the minuscule moments of our lives you attain. When presented with something so dead and cold, you can only look upon yourself and your environment differently, relishing in what little you have in your fleeting aggregation of moments. This is the demo for those moments. This is the demo where you realize what life is truly compromised of. Go on, open the door.

She's Puzzled By This Incessant Pressure

I wouldn't bother with these questions, if I didn't sense some spiritual connection...

Might I make a revision?

...If I didn't still sense an emotional one?

Maybe the wee morning hours are playing tricks on me.

Hope is becoming a thinner sheet of ice to tread these days.

Even sprawled flat I can feel the cracks forming.

Still, however ignorantly optimistic, I no longer fear what is held within the depths beneath.

Maybe I will make it across after all.

Morningrise

I am awaiting the sunrise
Gazing modestly through the coldest morning
Once it came you lied
Embracing us over autumn's proud treetops

I stand motionless
In a parade of falling rain
Your voice I cannot hear
As I am falling again

Devotion eludes
And in sadness I lumber
In my own ashes I am standing without a soul
She wept and whispered: "I know..."

We walked into the night
Am I to bid you farewell?

Why can't you see that I try
When every tear I shed
Is for you?

For every two letters you type..

Mine are lost.