"Owlsa" (2006)
1. Intro
[Instrumental]
2. Pity The Weak
we are a flash in the pan in relation to the longevity of life on this planet. when we murder countless lives and tear down countless trees, we feel we control everything. In our arrogance, we are simply pulling our end closer. When the last homo sapien dies, the world will not die with us. We are not a chosen race by some make believe god. We are the first, and hopefully last species to have evolved to the point where we deserve extinction. We are also a species that has the power to change this outcome.
Fell down upon the realm of man
On a scorned mound
We erect another monolith
Buckled under its own ego
Another pillar of content
Another milestone of man
Pity the weak
We cry out in laughter
As trees are felled
How the mighty have fallen
We mock the roots
Parasitic ape;
Spills his black blood
Blotting out the sun
Wither to sallow flesh
Saplings writhe where man is idle
An imperfect genocide
Erected upon weakened ground
Finally gave way
Toppled down. Toppled down
3. A Soul To Bear
It is obvious to me now that religion was the wedge that drove the human animal away from the rest of the natural world. humanity has a superiority complex, and we can blame religion for this. Religion dictates that animals do not have souls, and therefor only serve two purposes to us - slaves and food. As an atheist, the idea of a soul is a naive explanation for our consciousness, All life is conscious. No life on this planet, or anywhere in the universe for that matter, holds more significance than any other. The universe is a complex yet totally random event - and the outcome of evolution and chance on this planet was man - a subspecies of ape, who took the reigns for the last 45,000 years. And what have we done with that time? raped this world, enslaved each other, butchered countless lives in the name of civilization? intelligent animals that wield our dominance like monsters. We must all begin to understand that all life is equal, and to kill and eat other life when we no longer need to, (where we understand that we can draw all the nutrients we need from plants) - is cruel and unnecessary, and that man made gods do not offer pardons.
Man built god;
dragged himself upon a pedestal
kicked dirt in the faces of all other life
Crowned himself as deity
What animal separates this ape from that?
The human animal; ignored and loathed by louse and lion
Revel in our glory, in every brother is quarry
Butcher every life, until our land is stained and dead
From our towers we cry "every man shall bear a soul,
a right that no other beast shall bear"
and in the shadows the dogs shook their heads
"shame upon those apes, pride comes before a fall"
4. Lament
[Instrumental]
5. Last But Not Least
Give us this day!
Our daily dead!
Curse the sun for this sight
Lay strewn upon the ground, can we not offer humility?
Breath hungry, life lost, faith starved,
Can we not offer humility?
Digger dig deep, feel for sights and sounds
Press your ear against the earth, upon the ground
Runner, ride out, against the turning tide
The sun beats down upon the land set aside
Foreboding fates will not cease
Laying my death before me
Arrows split against my hide
I am everyone, everyone in these eyes
I will witness the fall of efrafa
I will witness, witness the fall
Give us this day!
Our daily dead!
Can we not offer humility?
6. The Fall Of Efrafa
The warren is empty tonight,
Blood spills on toiled ground
Fur will hang in ragged clumps
Upon the hedgerows
Peace is lost to us now,
A fettered ideal [x2]
They are the warmongers
And they will make our laws
A paw will fall upon the weak
They will mark the day
In death we make our charge, our last lament [x2]
To turn the tide, in our numbers;
The final will fall - they have our fear
We have the will
A battle cry will sound out
Shrill against the night
And with it our retribution;
The warren is empty [x5]
7. No Longer Human
Beneath this skin;
I am not human
I shed this flesh
In the name of shame
I shed this species
In the name of respect
For every life
We have taken from this earth
We are all butchers; plague bearers
The separation of man and beast
Butchers
We are worth nothing
We are owed nothing
We have learnt nothing
The dawn of man bore
witness to this end
silent faces turn callously away
In these eyes; sentience is rife
A cry; a smile - emotion we deny
Liars
We are worth nothing
We are owed nothing
We have learnt nothing
Born unto the hands of man
Divide in death their skin and bone
Throats slit bodies fall numb
This atrocity must come undone
A vegan species forced flesh into its maw
Suffocated on the blood of the dead and wanted more
Eyes outgrew stomachs, bloated with greed
Carnivore only in name, without the need
human kind is a hypocrisy,
compassion quashed with unhealthy need
tell yourself you can stomach their death
your words cast out on their dying breath
and all I can say is that I am sorry for what we have done
"Elil" (2007)
1. Beyond The Veil
In our haste we crowned a king
In our haste we bore his sin
In our haste we saw him god
In our haste; born again
Not in life but words of fiction
Another fable carved in stone
His crucifix a graven image
Impotent faith, to die alone
A bastard son of a bastard god
Stolen saviors of ancient tome
Misshapen idols in manmade temples
A bloodied hand across our mouths
Man the martyr; self appointed king
Lied in blood this selfish sin
Cast aside our sanity
The trinity of filth and lies
His majestic pestilent form
A rotted visage of our vanity
A cross a star a glyph
Burnt into our flesh
From our untimely birth
Cast upon us until death
And so we stand, ever waiting the end
Eyes skyward, ever waiting the end
Vacuous words read by naïve eyes
Coaxed out of pages, best forgotten
Cast a trillion shadows in their wake
Lay waste to all that we know
Bloated apes feign ignorance
Cloth to hide our guilt the stems
Our murderous nature in pastel rouge
This morality we attempt to fain
Man built God creates the veil
It hangs before us all and waits
Those who choose its warm caress
Dignify this empty fate
angelic mythos cracked in the kiln
Shards embedded in the mouths of liars
Charged nature as unfit
disfigured the sanctity of love
Tore down all that is good, all that is whole
2. Dominion Theology
Blessed be
thy torment;
Bound to the cadaver of the righteous
Our dutiful dead;
Dispose of this land in renewed valour
For we have slain the pitiful
Scoured this repugnant plain
With our cleansing touch
With vigour I blind my sight
Tranquil I resign my fate
Willing I cut my loins
For you have bled for us
You have died for us
Bind up thy wicked tongues
Sew shut her shameful lust
Burn up the sodomites
For they have wronged you
They have opposed you
Our vainglorious divinity
Fertile manure of the oppressed
Seething in cruor of the devout
Lives shed in adoration of you
Pardon the meek inheritance
Your words blanch skin bleach white
Cast out all other creeds
Gomorra filth;
worthless kin
Darwin's soiled grievance
Truth outweighed by the dumb
No reason in his domain
The deafening throng
The rapturous ascent
Of lives left in forfeit
Our last lament
This selfish appraisal
Lives lifted above
Bereft of all love
3. For El-Ahraihrah To Cry
Fu inlé; these clouds bode ill
From the earth we ran out;
That eve, that heralded night
For Man came knocking at our doors
Sank teeth within our homes
In those quiet hours,
where the elil ruled
The sky, the ground, our thoughts
We prayed for pity
but received none
We gasped for breath
But no breath came
Forgive us el ahrairah!
Prophet of two faces;
deceitful, delirious
Right hand of embleer frith,
Bore down on us all
Scattering minds like skeleton leaves
Hrair thethuthinnang
Weak willed we were, incoherent
Frith the lagging star,
hung on pitch fork lies
Weak willed we were, incoherent
Slay him down
deific abhorrence
slay him down
Frith lies still in charred soil
we silflay upon his bones
dance in his carrion eyes
tare his flesh with ideas
bore within him like worms
bore within him like worms
Frith the lagging star,
hung on pitch fork lies
Weak willed we were, incoherent
Slay him down
Embellished with
caustic runes
Buried cities,
burrow graves
We stand in
ragged rows
Tharn Eyes sullen with loss
Disembodied he wanders the wastes
Three headed elil
Frith, ahrairah, inlé
Baying for our heed
Cloying at our arms
eyes wet with tears
But we will not cry for you
We will not cry for you
We march in atrophy
His hands still claw and swoon
Sombre we tread
In quiet regress
Amidst the fallen
Friend and fetid foe
Their blood smears as one
And so our cause is whole
Warrens yawn wide
Engulf us all in tow
We will lie here
Beside these vanquished souls
We never ceased feeling
We only opened our eyes
Ended half said prayers
this fallen lord we vilify
"Inlé" (2009)
1. Simulacrum
These throws of rapture, kindly hands caress broken bones, hands that cut through parched soul like a sharpened stone. What is it that we leave in these fitting moments? Sentiment? These curtains fall and wrap us up in our rigor mortis, the nimble fingers of the black one, his majesty of cold, courting me into sweet abeyance. The malign steely touch of needle thorns massing and directing their gaze on my misfiring neurons. The vestiges of my sickening life, of my loves, my crowning glories, the pain and poetry of a spent existence. He coils up inside me now, kissing me and whispering sweet nothings. The words of release, the words I crave as I lose all, as the clotted mass of cumuli nimbus bows his head in salute. As i claw upwards, as i fall back into oblivion and his words speak out amongst the frightening turbulence, those final fleeting words i coax from his abhorrent throat. "Will you join my owsla?"
2. Fu Inlé
My brother be,
calm amongst withered grain.
Come join me,
from life's ebb we shall refrain.
Your failing eyes half blindly
stare and glimpse this fevered face,
valediction.
You marked this earth with calloused hands,
broke bread amongst your kin.
Another haggard conquered pawn,
a discarded volunteer.
A husk with an idea of life,
with eyes burning like fire,
valediction.
Cast aside these earthly woes,
you wove this tapestry of battles.
I'll pay you pittance for your days,
yet loosen all your shackles.
I am the seer in the dark,
the vagabond of yore,
valediction.
I am the sum of all your parts,
and proprietor of all.
A miasma,
the conclusion,
blackmonger of Inlé,
valediction.
Synapses fray,
my form now vivid,
as torpor sets and blood grows tepid.
With every ounce of flesh now offered,
I hold your corpse within my coffers.
Knitted cells now split asunder,
stand alongside me brother.
Take your place amongst my Owsla,
we march at dawn now and forever.
Cross your palms and acquiesce,
take a bow as they ascend.
Scent these grounds with your presence,
ring the change of days now done.
3. Republic Of Heaven
We wane in remembrance,
Drained by our scorn.
The flocks of the patriarch throttled,
Forlorn.
We gasp with epiphany,
Perception unmasked.
Ranks of black muslin litter out path.
Empyrian empties,
On our woeful malaise,
Engulfs and entwines our impious parade.
These are the embers,
The fetid ideal,
The end of our chastity,
Allow us to feel.
Nerves remain tender,
To touch makes us cry.
We see through these windows now become eyes.
Our burden is heavy,
As we ascend.
Like blemished flesh,
The earth seems to rent.
Pustules of faces,
Mouths like crevasse,
Our weathered coherence lost to morass.
Our debts are paid to this epoch,
Sanctimonious,
No remorse.
The king is dead!
The king is dead!
We bound his face!
Cut off his head!
We spit at thee,
We curse at thee,
The king is dead!
Brothers and sisters,
The king is dead!
Cut him down,
Flay his skin,
Our god is dead!
Courtisans!
Compatriots!
Lend me your ears,
We slayed this demagogue,
Dragged it to its knees.
We cut all the sycophants,
Deafened their call,
We gave back the willing to better us all.
We will not go quiet,
We will not be restrained,
We will not be slaves to an impotent regieme.
Mark this in remembrance,
The turning of tides.
Our nascent republic,
Born of (his) demise.
The nativity!
Our elegy!
To this reform!
4. The Burial
Like fingers they claw at the sky,
pylons of a pompous foray.
Sentinels to look down upon with vacant eyes.
We kindle our willing to strive,
to remain separate.
A farewell to the spoils of fate,
in shallow graves.
We dig a hole deep in the earth,
dig it deep to hide all our guilt.
A trio of sarcophagi - triadic deceit.
the quagmire could swallow whole,
the black well of our malady,
we grasp tight of offered hands,
to stem the flow of defeat.
We pick the bones cleans of their worth,
whisper (sweet) nothings into empty warrens,
mock prayers to revel within,
who has seen better days?
Zealots practice silent vigils,
we turn out attention upon their axis,
imitations inured with former glory,
we ignore their remorse.
5. Woundwort
At the crux of our nation,
the cornea dies.
Spills out dissension,
a barrage of cries.
Written in looks and glanced rebellion,
we gather these ugly wounds,
weep words opposition.
Tilled fields bare bitter fruit,
tendrils like needles furrow and root.
Clasped hands dig nails through skin and through wood,
gouge out the terms of our parenthood.
Those who would summon,
to court these assumptions,
to cut out the blemish of the idiot prince.
The godhead resides within the welt of coercion,
defiles the virtue of all our children.
The accent of piety,
the idiot prince.
Pigheaded,
exalted and guilty as sin.
We no longer cower in his necrotic penumbra,
the prophetic repugnance wore out long ago.
the call is heard,
the word is given,
the throng descends upon his eminence.
Attempted offerings,
he weeps in his woe.
The walls of his womb rock to an fro.
We will come knocking,
with baited breath,
the scent of the apostate rife with repent.
With icons dismantled,
the firmament cleansed.
We carve out new effigies and runes in the sand.
Faces of kindred,
faces of kind,
the worship of kinship fuels starving minds.
Where we lay,
we will build.
Though we may falter,
we will build.
The onus of power shifts in its cradle,
the locks on the doors brittle,
unable.
We splinter the timber, stand over the general.
The jabbering magnate,
dethrowned and devoured.
Dismember!
Scour this mantle!
We lingered far too long.
Smelt the chains!
Leave nothing unturned!
We suffered far too long.
6. The Sky Suspended
7. Warren Of Snares
We can account for the scars in our sides,
yet we are not privy to the thoughts that we discard.
Those who would break us,
nurture our despair.
But still we cherish those who we revile.
We take this battle in our fortitude,
the war of will yet to be resolved.
We broke the font from which we sup,
bit hard upon the nape of our chaste and drew blood.
Take refuge in our commune,
orphans,
staccato souls.
Scrawled identities,
captives of our consecration.
Is this our dowry,
the sorrow of our loss?
Do we inflict our young with the horrors of our past?
We use these imperfections as markers,
vestige points.
We have so much to gain,
so little left to loose.
Lay bare this soil,
a marred ambit,
borders bound by slick hraka.
Towers of salt carve out tracks,
cleaved in two by careless hands.
The word is rife,
the harbinger,
it clings to us this Efrafa.
Homba,
Lendri and Yonil,
it rises like vomit within us all.
The weakening words spread out in ares,
the urge to flee,
cowardice engulfs.
Our hands are raised in unison.
Brandished tools,
branded skin.
Cut away,
like so much meat,
we forged new scars against ill repute,
we hold on tight to one another.
I am legion for we are many.
1. Intro
[Instrumental]
2. Pity The Weak
we are a flash in the pan in relation to the longevity of life on this planet. when we murder countless lives and tear down countless trees, we feel we control everything. In our arrogance, we are simply pulling our end closer. When the last homo sapien dies, the world will not die with us. We are not a chosen race by some make believe god. We are the first, and hopefully last species to have evolved to the point where we deserve extinction. We are also a species that has the power to change this outcome.
Fell down upon the realm of man
On a scorned mound
We erect another monolith
Buckled under its own ego
Another pillar of content
Another milestone of man
Pity the weak
We cry out in laughter
As trees are felled
How the mighty have fallen
We mock the roots
Parasitic ape;
Spills his black blood
Blotting out the sun
Wither to sallow flesh
Saplings writhe where man is idle
An imperfect genocide
Erected upon weakened ground
Finally gave way
Toppled down. Toppled down
3. A Soul To Bear
It is obvious to me now that religion was the wedge that drove the human animal away from the rest of the natural world. humanity has a superiority complex, and we can blame religion for this. Religion dictates that animals do not have souls, and therefor only serve two purposes to us - slaves and food. As an atheist, the idea of a soul is a naive explanation for our consciousness, All life is conscious. No life on this planet, or anywhere in the universe for that matter, holds more significance than any other. The universe is a complex yet totally random event - and the outcome of evolution and chance on this planet was man - a subspecies of ape, who took the reigns for the last 45,000 years. And what have we done with that time? raped this world, enslaved each other, butchered countless lives in the name of civilization? intelligent animals that wield our dominance like monsters. We must all begin to understand that all life is equal, and to kill and eat other life when we no longer need to, (where we understand that we can draw all the nutrients we need from plants) - is cruel and unnecessary, and that man made gods do not offer pardons.
Man built god;
dragged himself upon a pedestal
kicked dirt in the faces of all other life
Crowned himself as deity
What animal separates this ape from that?
The human animal; ignored and loathed by louse and lion
Revel in our glory, in every brother is quarry
Butcher every life, until our land is stained and dead
From our towers we cry "every man shall bear a soul,
a right that no other beast shall bear"
and in the shadows the dogs shook their heads
"shame upon those apes, pride comes before a fall"
4. Lament
[Instrumental]
5. Last But Not Least
Give us this day!
Our daily dead!
Curse the sun for this sight
Lay strewn upon the ground, can we not offer humility?
Breath hungry, life lost, faith starved,
Can we not offer humility?
Digger dig deep, feel for sights and sounds
Press your ear against the earth, upon the ground
Runner, ride out, against the turning tide
The sun beats down upon the land set aside
Foreboding fates will not cease
Laying my death before me
Arrows split against my hide
I am everyone, everyone in these eyes
I will witness the fall of efrafa
I will witness, witness the fall
Give us this day!
Our daily dead!
Can we not offer humility?
6. The Fall Of Efrafa
The warren is empty tonight,
Blood spills on toiled ground
Fur will hang in ragged clumps
Upon the hedgerows
Peace is lost to us now,
A fettered ideal [x2]
They are the warmongers
And they will make our laws
A paw will fall upon the weak
They will mark the day
In death we make our charge, our last lament [x2]
To turn the tide, in our numbers;
The final will fall - they have our fear
We have the will
A battle cry will sound out
Shrill against the night
And with it our retribution;
The warren is empty [x5]
7. No Longer Human
Beneath this skin;
I am not human
I shed this flesh
In the name of shame
I shed this species
In the name of respect
For every life
We have taken from this earth
We are all butchers; plague bearers
The separation of man and beast
Butchers
We are worth nothing
We are owed nothing
We have learnt nothing
The dawn of man bore
witness to this end
silent faces turn callously away
In these eyes; sentience is rife
A cry; a smile - emotion we deny
Liars
We are worth nothing
We are owed nothing
We have learnt nothing
Born unto the hands of man
Divide in death their skin and bone
Throats slit bodies fall numb
This atrocity must come undone
A vegan species forced flesh into its maw
Suffocated on the blood of the dead and wanted more
Eyes outgrew stomachs, bloated with greed
Carnivore only in name, without the need
human kind is a hypocrisy,
compassion quashed with unhealthy need
tell yourself you can stomach their death
your words cast out on their dying breath
and all I can say is that I am sorry for what we have done
"Elil" (2007)
1. Beyond The Veil
In our haste we crowned a king
In our haste we bore his sin
In our haste we saw him god
In our haste; born again
Not in life but words of fiction
Another fable carved in stone
His crucifix a graven image
Impotent faith, to die alone
A bastard son of a bastard god
Stolen saviors of ancient tome
Misshapen idols in manmade temples
A bloodied hand across our mouths
Man the martyr; self appointed king
Lied in blood this selfish sin
Cast aside our sanity
The trinity of filth and lies
His majestic pestilent form
A rotted visage of our vanity
A cross a star a glyph
Burnt into our flesh
From our untimely birth
Cast upon us until death
And so we stand, ever waiting the end
Eyes skyward, ever waiting the end
Vacuous words read by naïve eyes
Coaxed out of pages, best forgotten
Cast a trillion shadows in their wake
Lay waste to all that we know
Bloated apes feign ignorance
Cloth to hide our guilt the stems
Our murderous nature in pastel rouge
This morality we attempt to fain
Man built God creates the veil
It hangs before us all and waits
Those who choose its warm caress
Dignify this empty fate
angelic mythos cracked in the kiln
Shards embedded in the mouths of liars
Charged nature as unfit
disfigured the sanctity of love
Tore down all that is good, all that is whole
2. Dominion Theology
Blessed be
thy torment;
Bound to the cadaver of the righteous
Our dutiful dead;
Dispose of this land in renewed valour
For we have slain the pitiful
Scoured this repugnant plain
With our cleansing touch
With vigour I blind my sight
Tranquil I resign my fate
Willing I cut my loins
For you have bled for us
You have died for us
Bind up thy wicked tongues
Sew shut her shameful lust
Burn up the sodomites
For they have wronged you
They have opposed you
Our vainglorious divinity
Fertile manure of the oppressed
Seething in cruor of the devout
Lives shed in adoration of you
Pardon the meek inheritance
Your words blanch skin bleach white
Cast out all other creeds
Gomorra filth;
worthless kin
Darwin's soiled grievance
Truth outweighed by the dumb
No reason in his domain
The deafening throng
The rapturous ascent
Of lives left in forfeit
Our last lament
This selfish appraisal
Lives lifted above
Bereft of all love
3. For El-Ahraihrah To Cry
Fu inlé; these clouds bode ill
From the earth we ran out;
That eve, that heralded night
For Man came knocking at our doors
Sank teeth within our homes
In those quiet hours,
where the elil ruled
The sky, the ground, our thoughts
We prayed for pity
but received none
We gasped for breath
But no breath came
Forgive us el ahrairah!
Prophet of two faces;
deceitful, delirious
Right hand of embleer frith,
Bore down on us all
Scattering minds like skeleton leaves
Hrair thethuthinnang
Weak willed we were, incoherent
Frith the lagging star,
hung on pitch fork lies
Weak willed we were, incoherent
Slay him down
deific abhorrence
slay him down
Frith lies still in charred soil
we silflay upon his bones
dance in his carrion eyes
tare his flesh with ideas
bore within him like worms
bore within him like worms
Frith the lagging star,
hung on pitch fork lies
Weak willed we were, incoherent
Slay him down
Embellished with
caustic runes
Buried cities,
burrow graves
We stand in
ragged rows
Tharn Eyes sullen with loss
Disembodied he wanders the wastes
Three headed elil
Frith, ahrairah, inlé
Baying for our heed
Cloying at our arms
eyes wet with tears
But we will not cry for you
We will not cry for you
We march in atrophy
His hands still claw and swoon
Sombre we tread
In quiet regress
Amidst the fallen
Friend and fetid foe
Their blood smears as one
And so our cause is whole
Warrens yawn wide
Engulf us all in tow
We will lie here
Beside these vanquished souls
We never ceased feeling
We only opened our eyes
Ended half said prayers
this fallen lord we vilify
"Inlé" (2009)
1. Simulacrum
These throws of rapture, kindly hands caress broken bones, hands that cut through parched soul like a sharpened stone. What is it that we leave in these fitting moments? Sentiment? These curtains fall and wrap us up in our rigor mortis, the nimble fingers of the black one, his majesty of cold, courting me into sweet abeyance. The malign steely touch of needle thorns massing and directing their gaze on my misfiring neurons. The vestiges of my sickening life, of my loves, my crowning glories, the pain and poetry of a spent existence. He coils up inside me now, kissing me and whispering sweet nothings. The words of release, the words I crave as I lose all, as the clotted mass of cumuli nimbus bows his head in salute. As i claw upwards, as i fall back into oblivion and his words speak out amongst the frightening turbulence, those final fleeting words i coax from his abhorrent throat. "Will you join my owsla?"
2. Fu Inlé
My brother be,
calm amongst withered grain.
Come join me,
from life's ebb we shall refrain.
Your failing eyes half blindly
stare and glimpse this fevered face,
valediction.
You marked this earth with calloused hands,
broke bread amongst your kin.
Another haggard conquered pawn,
a discarded volunteer.
A husk with an idea of life,
with eyes burning like fire,
valediction.
Cast aside these earthly woes,
you wove this tapestry of battles.
I'll pay you pittance for your days,
yet loosen all your shackles.
I am the seer in the dark,
the vagabond of yore,
valediction.
I am the sum of all your parts,
and proprietor of all.
A miasma,
the conclusion,
blackmonger of Inlé,
valediction.
Synapses fray,
my form now vivid,
as torpor sets and blood grows tepid.
With every ounce of flesh now offered,
I hold your corpse within my coffers.
Knitted cells now split asunder,
stand alongside me brother.
Take your place amongst my Owsla,
we march at dawn now and forever.
Cross your palms and acquiesce,
take a bow as they ascend.
Scent these grounds with your presence,
ring the change of days now done.
3. Republic Of Heaven
We wane in remembrance,
Drained by our scorn.
The flocks of the patriarch throttled,
Forlorn.
We gasp with epiphany,
Perception unmasked.
Ranks of black muslin litter out path.
Empyrian empties,
On our woeful malaise,
Engulfs and entwines our impious parade.
These are the embers,
The fetid ideal,
The end of our chastity,
Allow us to feel.
Nerves remain tender,
To touch makes us cry.
We see through these windows now become eyes.
Our burden is heavy,
As we ascend.
Like blemished flesh,
The earth seems to rent.
Pustules of faces,
Mouths like crevasse,
Our weathered coherence lost to morass.
Our debts are paid to this epoch,
Sanctimonious,
No remorse.
The king is dead!
The king is dead!
We bound his face!
Cut off his head!
We spit at thee,
We curse at thee,
The king is dead!
Brothers and sisters,
The king is dead!
Cut him down,
Flay his skin,
Our god is dead!
Courtisans!
Compatriots!
Lend me your ears,
We slayed this demagogue,
Dragged it to its knees.
We cut all the sycophants,
Deafened their call,
We gave back the willing to better us all.
We will not go quiet,
We will not be restrained,
We will not be slaves to an impotent regieme.
Mark this in remembrance,
The turning of tides.
Our nascent republic,
Born of (his) demise.
The nativity!
Our elegy!
To this reform!
4. The Burial
Like fingers they claw at the sky,
pylons of a pompous foray.
Sentinels to look down upon with vacant eyes.
We kindle our willing to strive,
to remain separate.
A farewell to the spoils of fate,
in shallow graves.
We dig a hole deep in the earth,
dig it deep to hide all our guilt.
A trio of sarcophagi - triadic deceit.
the quagmire could swallow whole,
the black well of our malady,
we grasp tight of offered hands,
to stem the flow of defeat.
We pick the bones cleans of their worth,
whisper (sweet) nothings into empty warrens,
mock prayers to revel within,
who has seen better days?
Zealots practice silent vigils,
we turn out attention upon their axis,
imitations inured with former glory,
we ignore their remorse.
5. Woundwort
At the crux of our nation,
the cornea dies.
Spills out dissension,
a barrage of cries.
Written in looks and glanced rebellion,
we gather these ugly wounds,
weep words opposition.
Tilled fields bare bitter fruit,
tendrils like needles furrow and root.
Clasped hands dig nails through skin and through wood,
gouge out the terms of our parenthood.
Those who would summon,
to court these assumptions,
to cut out the blemish of the idiot prince.
The godhead resides within the welt of coercion,
defiles the virtue of all our children.
The accent of piety,
the idiot prince.
Pigheaded,
exalted and guilty as sin.
We no longer cower in his necrotic penumbra,
the prophetic repugnance wore out long ago.
the call is heard,
the word is given,
the throng descends upon his eminence.
Attempted offerings,
he weeps in his woe.
The walls of his womb rock to an fro.
We will come knocking,
with baited breath,
the scent of the apostate rife with repent.
With icons dismantled,
the firmament cleansed.
We carve out new effigies and runes in the sand.
Faces of kindred,
faces of kind,
the worship of kinship fuels starving minds.
Where we lay,
we will build.
Though we may falter,
we will build.
The onus of power shifts in its cradle,
the locks on the doors brittle,
unable.
We splinter the timber, stand over the general.
The jabbering magnate,
dethrowned and devoured.
Dismember!
Scour this mantle!
We lingered far too long.
Smelt the chains!
Leave nothing unturned!
We suffered far too long.
6. The Sky Suspended
7. Warren Of Snares
We can account for the scars in our sides,
yet we are not privy to the thoughts that we discard.
Those who would break us,
nurture our despair.
But still we cherish those who we revile.
We take this battle in our fortitude,
the war of will yet to be resolved.
We broke the font from which we sup,
bit hard upon the nape of our chaste and drew blood.
Take refuge in our commune,
orphans,
staccato souls.
Scrawled identities,
captives of our consecration.
Is this our dowry,
the sorrow of our loss?
Do we inflict our young with the horrors of our past?
We use these imperfections as markers,
vestige points.
We have so much to gain,
so little left to loose.
Lay bare this soil,
a marred ambit,
borders bound by slick hraka.
Towers of salt carve out tracks,
cleaved in two by careless hands.
The word is rife,
the harbinger,
it clings to us this Efrafa.
Homba,
Lendri and Yonil,
it rises like vomit within us all.
The weakening words spread out in ares,
the urge to flee,
cowardice engulfs.
Our hands are raised in unison.
Brandished tools,
branded skin.
Cut away,
like so much meat,
we forged new scars against ill repute,
we hold on tight to one another.
I am legion for we are many.
inviata da DonQuijote82 - 26/4/2014 - 20:11
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"Elil" (2007)
"Inlé" (2009)
LA COLLINA DEI CONIGLI!
Everyone, everyone in these eyes I will witness the fall of Efafra I will witness, witness the fall (Last but not least, Owsla, Fall of Efrafa)
Il primo ricordo che accomuna tutti i bambini ormai adulti che hanno visto La Collina dei Conigli, film di animazione di Martin Rosen del 1978, è il ricordo del sangue.
Tratto dall'omonima opera letteraria - raro caso in cui il titolo italiano è forse migliore di quello originale (Watership Down) - di Richard Adams, del 1972, La Collina dei Conigli racconta la storia di un “branco di conigli protagonisti di una meravigliosa epopea della libertà”, come recita la copertina dell'edizione italiana (Rizzoli-Bur) del 1975.
Sangue... Sangue che invade la conigliera da cui tutto parte, in una visione di Quintilio, coniglio preveggente e fratello del giovane Moscardo. Quintilio e Moscardo sono conigli “periferici”, in quanto plebei e minori di un anno di età che, per questa ragione per esempio, se trovano una primula durante la silflaia (il pascolo) devono cederla ai conigli della Ausla.
L'Ausla di una conigliera è costituita dagli esemplari che eccellono in determinati ambiti e che dettano legge sul resto del branco. Vi sono Capi Coniglio che preferiscono circondarsi di un'orda di guerrieri, altri che favoriscono gli impavidi esploratori e, altri ancora, che premiano gli astuti razziatori. Ma Quintilio è troppo giovane e poco influente per far sì che il Coniglio Capo gli dia ascolto e così, la sua orribile visione (la luce rossa del tramonto che diventa un lago di sangue sulla loro conigliera), rimane inascoltata. Solo il fratello e pochi altri conigli decideranno di seguire Quintilio nella sua fuga verso l'ignoto.
For Man came knocking at our doors, sank teeth within our home. In those quiet hours,where the elil ruled, the sky, the ground, our thoughts. We prayed for pity, but received none. We gasped for breath, But no breath came. Forgive us El-Ahrairah! Prophet of two faces. (For El-Ahraihrah To Cry, Elil)
Il loro viaggio, irto di pericoli, viene allietato dalle novelle di Dente di Leone grazie alle quali scopriamo la storia, il credo e le norme sociali di una conigliera. Scopriamo per esempio che Fritz, il dio di ogni cosa, aveva creato un mondo in cui gli animali erano tutti uguali tra loro e vivevano in pace ed armonia grazie all'abbondanza di cibo; ma fu proprio a causa dell'avidità, dell'arroganza e della prolificità della conigliera di El-Ahrairà (il primo coniglio) che Fritz decise di punirli rendendoli codardi e prede degli altri animali. «Ascolta El-Ahrairà . Il tuo popolo non potrà dominare il mondo intero, perché io non lo permetto. Tutto il mondo sarà vostro nemico. E chi ti catturerà, ti ammazzerà, Principe dai Mille Nemici.»
Ecco così, che il peccato originale viene castigato ed ai conigli, che sanno contare fino a quattro dopodiché c'è un generico Hrair (molti ovvero mille), non spetta altro che ingegnarsi e difendersi dai Mille Nemici (Elil), quali volpi, gatti, rapaci, faine e soprattutto l'uomo.
Interessante la descrizione delle “cose degli uomini” da parte dei conigli che, ignorando l'aspetto utilitaristico di strade, ponti e automobili li riconoscono per la loro difformità rispetto al contesto naturale (forme geometriche regolari, angoli retti e odori sintetici) e li descrivono per il loro impatto violento con l'ambiente in cui si collocano. Ecco dunque che l'automobile si chiama hrududù per via del rumore assordante che produce e la strada invece... "Sbucati dall'altra parte della fratta, Moscardo guardò stupito la strada asfaltata. Lì per lì gli fece l'effetto di un fiume: nera, liscia, dritta fra i suoi argini. Poi notò che era fatta di ghiaia e bitume, e vide un ragno che vi zampettava sopra. "Ma non è una cosa naturale" disse, annusando i forti e strani odori, di catrame, di benzina. "Che cos'é? Come c'è venuta qui?". "E' roba d'uomo" disse Parruccone. "La fanno apposta, e ci corrono sopra i hurddudù... più veloci di noi. E chi altri sennò potrebbero correre più svelti di noi?"
Moscardo e gli altri, in cerca di una casa, incontreranno altri conigli. Ogni coniglio, in un certo senso, diventa manifesto di una precisa società e del posto (o ruolo) che decidiamo di assumere nella vita in quanto cittadini, lavoratori, schiavi, padroni, vittime o predatori, ma soprattutto qual'è il costo, in termini di libertà, che siamo disposti a pagare in cambio di un apparente benessere e di una fantomatica sicurezza.
A bastard son of a bastard god Stolen saviors of ancient tome Misshapen idols in manmade temples A bloodied hand across our mouths. And so we stand, ever waiting the end, eyes skyward, ever waiting the end (Beyond the veil, Elil)
Nella conigliera di Primula Gialla, per esempio, non ci sono capi e tutti sono ben nutriti e in salute. Una società che rinnega gli antichi dèi (non credono in Fritz e nelle parabole di El-Ahrairà), composta da conigli uguali tra loro e liberi, che vivono in pace e hanno dimenticato – e rinnegato – l'arte dell'astuzia lapina e del combattimento. Una conigliera però, in cui non c'è memoria e non c'è “informazione”.
Moscardo e gli altri scopriranno ben presto, che non è ammesso far domande, così come è sconsigliato chiedersi perché, l'uomo della fattoria vicina, si premuri di lasciare grandi quantità di cibo incustodito nei pressi delle tane. Primula Gialla e gli altri conigli convivono con l'uomo, ma qual'è il prezzo da pagare per aver venduto la propria “anima”?
Gli agi, il benessere, l'abbondanza di cibo esigono il loro sacrificio in sangue e quindi, poco importa se l'area della conigliera è crivellata di trappole per conigli, che vengono ritualmente catturati per essere uccisi, scuoiati e mangiati. Ecco che così, nella società perfetta di Primula Gialla senza capi, conflitti e miseria, i conigli “spariscono”, ma nessuno si chiede dove essi siano. Una società ricca e apparentemente sicura, di conigli depressi e incapaci di autodeterminare la propria esistenza, in cui i deboli vengono sacrificati in nome del bene comune.
Situazione analoga a quella dei conigli “domestici” imprigionati nella casa del fattore, che però non vengono macellati, in quanto adottati dalla giovane figlia dell'uomo. L'accettare di vivere in una gabbia dunque, di essere portati nel prato qualche ora al giorno (quando la bambina ha voglia di giocare con loro) e il non conoscere nulla all'infuori della propria prigionia, in cambio di cibo e protezione. Una dolce cattività, prima di tutto psicologica, che ricorda le gabbie emotive e relazionali di una società conformista in cui, troppo spesso, si vive il proprio ruolo all'interno della famiglia – fatta di affetti e imposizioni – come l'unica via possibile per approcciarsi al prossimo. Con annessa anche una piccola e forse un po' scontata, riflessione sull'ipocrisia (o “dilemma” come direbbe qualcuno) che sta alla base della distinzione binaria tra animale domestico/animale da macellare, peluche/cibo dell'onnivoro.
What animal separates this ape from that? The human animal; ignored and loathed by louse and lion. Reveal in our glory, in every brother is quarry. Butcher every life, until our land is stained and dead. From our towers we cry: «Every man shall bear a soul, a right that no other beast shall bear». And in the shadows the dogs shook their heads «shame upon those apes, pride comes before a fall» (A soul to bare, Owsla)
"Will you join my owsla?" (Simulacrum, Inlé)
Ma è in Efrafa, la conigliera del Generale Vulneraria, che Richarda Adams descrive la peggiore società immaginabile. Una dittatura spietata e contro-natura in cui i conigli della plebe vengono marchiati e la cui vita - quando fare silflaia, quando fare hraka (defecare), con chi figliare – è vincolata dall'appartenenza a quella o quell'altra “marca”. La miseria della propria esistenza è accettata e giustificata dalla speranza dell'ascesa sociale.
«Buona parte di loro non riescono a far altro che quello che gli dicono di fare. Non si sono mai allontanati da Efrafa, non hanno mai fiutato un nemico. L'unica aspirazione che hanno, è d'entrare nell'Ausla, per goderne i privilegi.»
We splinter the timber, stand over the general. The jabbering magnate, dethrowned and devoured. Dismember! Scour this mantle! We lingered far too long. Smelt the chains! Leave nothing unturned! We suffered far too long. (Woundwort, Inlé)
Una società in cui tutto ciò che è forestiero ed esterno rappresenta una minaccia, in cui gli hlessil (conigli selvaggi che non appartengono a nessuna conigliera) vengono catturati ed obbligati a vivere secondo le regole del Generale Vulneraria.
Peace is lost to us now, A fettered ideal. They are the warmongers And they will make our laws A paw will fall upon the weak They will mark the day (The fall of Efrafa, Owlsa)
Una società militare e sovraffollata in cui sono le femmine a pagare il prezzo più caro, schiave e vittime dei soprusi dei conigli dell'Ausla, che possono “farle proprie” a loro piacimento, per aumentare così la popolazione e il prestigio personale e di Efrafa tutta. “Un animale selvatico che senta di non aver più alcun motivo di vivere, arriva infine a un punto in cui le sue energie residue possono effettivamente orientarsi verso la morte. […] Ecco, adesso sentiva che la disperazione non era lontane da quelle coniglie. […] Sapeva che gli effetti del sovraffollamento e relative tensioni si manifestano prima nelle femmine. Esse divengono sterili e aggressive. Ma siccome l'aggressività non approda a nulla, spesso quelle cominciano a scivolare verso l'unica via d'uscita.” Le coniglie di Efrafa, che “riassorbono i propri cuccioli prima di darli alla luce” - negando il proprio futuro e auto-sabotando la possibilità di sopravvivenza della specie- sono le prime a ribellarsi e a tentare una fuga che verrà repressa nel sangue. Moscardo e gli altri, venuti a conoscenza della condizione dei conigli di Efrafa, decideranno di combattere il Generale Vulneraria e di mettere fine alla sua dittatura, anche a costo di pagare con la propria vita.
Our hands are raised in unison. Brandished tools, branded skin. Cut away, like so much meat, we forged new scars against ill repute, we hold on tight to one another. I am legion for we are many. (Warren Of Snares, Inlé)
La storia di Moscardo e della sua guerra contro la dittatura di Efrafa, ha senza dubbio ancora tanto da raccontare su noi stessi, prima di tutto. Un'epopea, una favola, un'opera di fantasia che fa riflettere e meditare sul fatto che non può esserci libertà ne' pace, per chi è privo di empatia e, vivendo nel conformismo e nell'indifferenza, non combatta e non faccia sua la lotta degli ultimi di questo pianeta.
I Fall Of Efrafa, band dell'East Sussex, (come avrete capito!) ha dedicato a questa storia la trilogia “Warren Of Snares”, composta dagli album Owsla (Alerta Antifascista/Behind the Scenes/Fight For Your Mind - 2006), Elil (Alerta Antifascista/Behind the Scenes/Fight For Your Mind/Halo of Lies - 2007) e Inle (Halo of Lies/Denovali Records – 2009). Ah! Qui è possibile scaricare il capitolo del romanzo in cui Pungitopo, fuggito da Efrafa, descrive l'incubo della dittatura...
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