World Metal - Kosmopolis Sud

1. World Music With Black Edges


Out of Africa, Mother of the species
The original tribe falling to pieces
As families diverged and spread to farther lands
We are the offspring of those traveling bands

Back to Africa, returning to the Source
Neonism revived, connecting to the Force
Hear the artillery of the Solefald gunboat
We bring you the rhythms and the stories unsought

In Kragerø, Telemark, reporting from the fjord
Tanned people row boats with children onboard
Above the codfish and mackerel, below the gulls of the sky
In these summers I grew up, so happy I could die

Writing by the sea in Norway, Kosmopolis
In the small wooden hall we wrote our «Omnipolis»
Back when the mothers still walked the Earth
The ones who raised and loved us from the moment of birth

The Kosmopolis Crew have dressed for the tropics
Back to the late 90s with the fluorescent topics
They forgot «to yourself» in the device «stay true»
The Total Orchestra come howling back at you

The motormouth verses, the Cro-Magnon grins
The Zanzibar guitar, the wild beating of skins
The synth machinery, the Gedichte of gloom
The choirs and organs, the bass lines of doom

Kosmopolis, it is something new
Kosmopolis, I have my eyes on you
Verse is the bridge, the Atlantic is the gap
Shoutout to Ill Bill for bridging it with Rap

Soldiers of Fortune, Heavy Metal Kings
How cool to be only one of those things
In 2010 «Black Metal» crossed the border
In 2000 we wrote «Open the Black Metal Order» :
«There are no Blacks in Black Metal, the name must be an error
How did this temple of sound roar into being?
Who made it the tornado it is?
The bad kids are getting old but they played is not
Open the Black Metal Order This is pain immortalized
The future is said to be many things but I predict it to be Transatlantic
Who is able to carry on through? Who is able to stay courageous?»

3rd Inhuman Music Regiment Berlin
Third Rebel for short, a think tank grey as sin
Metal should look martial, be as strict as it is stern
In the hall of arts we made the GewaltKunstWerk burn

The House of World Cultures was the place to begin
The State in Time assembled the NSK in Berlin
Aesthetes in uniforms, Microstates with riding boots
Democrats in leather, Anarchists in shooting suits

Subcultures met and offered peaceful pledges
Three days it lasted, world music with black edges
L'art est le fanatisme qui oblige à la diplomatie
À bas la Terreur, avant que tout ne finit


Eg hev ikkje anna å bjoda på enn emosjonell turisme
Ein feit dude i batikk som dansar til ein feit beat
Ein feit chick med glowstick stein på feil shit
I Goa ravar voodoofolket på strandi

Du kan kjenna det, rytmen er ein dansar
Du må lata musikken røra beini dine
Hopp for hyggje, hopp for hugnad
Hopp for glede, hopp for frygd

Hopp over alt som gjer livet vondt å leva
Hopp i tidi til då me dansa, syng med
Vert med til byen vår, Kosmopolis
Kryp inn i mitt hovud

2. The Germanic Entity


Night has fallen over the nature of the North
The sea lines dark as oil, Frey and Njård come forth
For the love of our province, grant us growth and peace
Watch over the workers on land and at the seas

After June and July comes the grey September
And I think of the nation of which I am a member
Norway, my cradle, that mountainous spoon
#1 on all lists, civilization's boon?

Why be so hard on someone you love?
I've done my bit of crawling, I'll risk 5 minutes above
The critique has been quiet, here is what I have to say
Like my feldgrau dress, let my lyrics be field grey

The wealth has made you arrogant, people run to you for money
Not because they like you, they just wanted to taste the honey
The Norwegian identity is now based on handouts
Why do you think it's so far between the standouts?

[Solefald Retrospective Chorus:]
In a postcolonial age we wrote postmodern rhyme
Sped The Macho Vehicle down the Autobahn of Time
The Linear Scaffold is a Christian invention
A one-way ticket to Hell with patriarchal intention
Proprietors of Red by The Circular Drain
We come again, like the sun and the rain
The Germanic Entity will cause the World to fall
There won't be any Profit, Progress above all

You complain that kids don't read, never fed them the hooks
The libraries decay, they trash half of our books
Looks to the Atlantic, see Norse heritage thrive
An Icelandic Odyssey, the old gods are alive

The Prince skis through the forest with some ruler on the phone
Spearheading an empire as he glides past the firs alone
Pomp without power was the rage of the past
Power without pomp can make our age the last

The Germanic Entity, its name shall not be spoken
The chains of this Power have never been broken
Blut und Eisen replaced with Diplomacy and Aid
Peace is something that His Majesty made

What can our Statesman do more than to play Christ
With oil-fueled diplomacy, a humanist heist
Social democracy prefer finance to the word
Money wrapped as Dialogue makes Him the Lord


Utan fyrebod stend det ein by der, lysande, kastar kvite og gule spjot
uppover i myrkret, bruer og bygg, løysingar som hjelper
menneski å finna seg ein heim i deg, Kosmopolis
den totale byen diktaren drøymer um

der han stend under det store biletet, tagal, budd til å fara
frå velstanden som vart til dekadanse, Diktaren skal inn
i den mytiske tidi, til skumringi der ei kvinne sit
og drit. Ho vender deim ryggen, no ventar

skogsvegen, dei store flatone : Eg hev sett deim, kjent deim
Dei drap hundar og skulda på hunger. Dei dreiv tennene
inn i eigne skallar so dei fekk endå ein munn å metta
Dei åt for tvo og drap for tri. Eg elska rovdyri

men hev ikkje fleire lamb å missa. I skogen er eg fri for rovdyri
No vert veggene bygde for å halda oss inne, sperra dyret
inne. Det vil verta endå varmare, endå trongare
enn fyrr. Svarte kalde vegger å spegla seg i

3. Bububu Bad Beuys

Bububu Banzibar bananas
Bububu by bus best beast bets
Bububu by boat bad bats bast
Bububu be bad beuys
Bububu be bikers
Bububu born bo bite bhe bullet
Bububu birthplace bof Bub' Ubub
Bububu Boliness Boyalty
Bububu Bolefald bruitbakes
Bububu Bornelius bon Back
Bububu Bhou Bhat Bhou Bilst
Bububu batshit brofessors bull
Bububu bane bof bhe bikers
Bububu bassholes bung bhe bit
Bububu Boom Boom Boom
Bububu bad boy bikers bookface
Bububu brothel broth beaters
Bububu bitch but bhe ball boom
Bububu batch boming bast
Bububu bass bombing
Bububu bis Bali Boga
Bububu but bhe best
Bububu bake bhe brain
Bububu beans « blute » boot boot
Bububu bøkkaband
Bububu Brünerbøkka
Bububu be Berlin

4. Future Universal Histories


[Modernist theme:]
Imagine our time seen from 1920, Europe after La Grande guerre
Welcome mass electricity and socialites on cocaine
The Roaring Twenties reverberating from America
With radio commercials for automobiles
Art Deco beaming back, robing every lady, her rooms and cities
She votes, she works and is sexually awakened by Dr. Sigmund Freud
As the New York skyline rises with the
Empire State and Chrysler Buildings
Jazz booms from Nouvelle-Orléans,
Young couples Lindy Hop their way up

The Weimar Republic in Germany, Dada in Berlin and Vienna
Followed by the murder of Rosa Luxemburg in 1919
The maiden of Socialism leads the workers towards the new dawn
The Proprietors of Red labour the Third International

[Prussian theme:]
We're the Wilhelmine Combattants of 1913
Prussian Burschen aspiring to Scars of Fame
Eyes und Nase covered, now let the Swords fly
The sweet Folly of stitching gushing Wunden

Drunk Students in Burschenschaft Uniforms
Fighting the Mensur für no Grund at all
The Jahrhundert ahead shall ridicule our Honour
Lach at our Pride in Vaterland und King

[Modernist theme:]
New music follows the Stravinsky line of Le sacre du printemps 1913
The motors of Modernism rev with T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land
and James Joyce's Ulysses in 1922
André Breton and the Surrealists manifest in Paris in 1924
Fritz Lang directs « Metropolis » in Babelsberg in 1927

[Prussian theme:]
Schau me in the Auge, sag you don't like my Narbe
The Prussian Blade gab me another Mouth
i'll keep on schnickschnacken to the Ende
As the Wilhelmine Combattant of 1913

[Modernist theme:]
Ten years of merriness and hope before the Depression
Unemployment nationalises Socialism, causing Armageddon
German aggression expands from within to the East and to the West
World War II ends with the nuclear sunset over the Japanese Empire


Eg skrur på min menneskelegdom, skreiv du.
Floden er skitten og full av lik, skreiv du,
Eg skriv: Um du skal vinna, må nokon tapa.
Eg skriv: Ingen hjelper ein som ikkje kan hjelpa.

Tidi er ein isbre som utsletter spori etter oss, skreiv du.
Ho skyv minnet fyre seg gjenom dalføret, skreiv du,
Eg skriv: Lat andre ofra seg sigeren.
Eg skriv: Utnytt dei veike til din fordel.

Eg er guden som tok sjølvmord med å drepa sonen.
Eg er kongane og hungerens brune tenner.
Eg er elden som brann i Sodoma.
Eg er ulven som sprengde Oklahoma.

Eg er hornljod i kveldingi, hundeglam i skogen.
Eg er Siegfried, jaga millom trei i natti.
Eg er tunet, treet og kvinna han fann.
Eg er sverdet, og armen som treiv det.

Eg er Hod som skaut og Baldur som fell.
Eg er Frigg som bag og mistelteinen ho gløymde.
Eg er kniven som skar og såret som opna seg.
Eg er skulden og han som ikkje angra.

Eg var tridje verdskrigen som raste over hovudi,
det uniformerte folket som aldri vart informert.
Eg krossfesta dei arme til ljoden av raga,
milliardane av liv som aldri klaga.

Eg var torsoen som tagg på Colaba Causeway.
Eg var den grønøygde jenta på gata i Mumbai.
Eg var grapefruktsvulsten i drosjevindauga.
Eg var rupiane dei naudkomne ikkje ville hava.

Eg skreiv med barberblad i sanningis andlit,
freste eit dikt for kvar von som døydde.
Gjev dyri fred, send giftbegeret rundt.
Drikk, saman fyrste gongen.

5. Le Soleil


Soleil, je te peins comme l'oeil de l'histoire
Un globe qui nous regarde de l'espace
Le point d'interrogation ultime
L'oeil de la violence qui se regarde

Soleil, je te peins comme mon oeil
Pour que tu me regardes avec la force par laquelle je t'ai créé
Je te peins comme l'oeil du cosmos dont je suis le porteur
Un assassin des couleurs

Soleil, je te peins comme l'oeil de la mer
Flottant dans des vagues vertes et immenses
Tu me regardes avec le bleu clair étincelant que je t'ai donné.
Je te peins comme l'oeil de la Terre
Tu me regardes d'en-dessous de mes pieds
Aux rayons voraces de chair et de science

Soleil, je te peins comme l'étoile de l'oeil
Le centre de gravité de la vision, une bouche luisante
Qui attire les couleurs pour les mastiquer
Le violet du cosmos
Le vert de la mer
Le bleu de la Terre
Le jaune triomphant de l'oeil


Sol, æ malår dæ som historiens øye
ei kule som ser på oss ifra rommet
det yddårste spørsmålstegn
voldens øye som ser på sæ sjøl

Sol, æ malår dæ som øyet mitt
for at du ska se på mæ med krafta æ skapte dæ med
Æ malår dæ som øyet te kosmos som æ sjøl bærår
en farvaned mordår

Sol, æ malår dæ som havets øye
flydans i veldige, grønne bølgår
Du ser på mæ med det lyseblå skinnans som æ ga dæ
Æ malår dæ som øyet te jorda
Du ser på mæ fra undår føddane mine
med glupske strålår a kjød og viden

Sol, æ malår dæ som øyet stjerne
synets gravitasjonssentrum, en lysans munn
som tiltrekkår sæ farvår for å tygge de
det fiolette te kosmos
det grønne te havet
det blå te Jorda
det triumferans gule te øye

6. 2011, Or A Knight Of The Fail


Hey Andrew Lacoste, I say welcome to Hell
Playing killer games in your solitary cell
Mr. Coward, what went wrong with your head
A murderer of children, and still you aren't dead

On July 21st, I saw Gurnemanz mourn
In the ruins of '45, his uniform torn
Parsifal in Bayreuth, a Knight of the Grail
The Dictatorship defeated, a quest doomed to fail

A wedding in Norway, the conductor's hand beckoned
I flew out on July 22nd
Landed in Oslo at 15:22
Three minutes later the Terror became true

Saw Government buildings going in smoke
I thought it was a video, it had to be a joke
Stayed in the airport, safe and at distance
Hardly a position that offers resistance

Dramatize the Untergang, don't we, my artist friends
That sweet sensation of an Angst that never ends
But all a sudden, the threat became real
Expanding ammunition made wounds that wouldn't heal

Hey Andrew Lacoste, I say welcome to Hell
Playing killer games in your solitary cell
Mr. Coward, what went wrong with your head
A murderer of children, and still you aren't dead

I thought it was a film, it couldn't be right
Terror took the form of a lunatic Knight
Disguised as a policeman he killed 77
That was Oklahoma, our September 11th

On the day two months after I lost my loved mother
Everything changed from one day to another
All of a sudden, my grief was ours
The young kept on dying, in spite of the powers

That tried to help them, but the evil was strong
And "you did this", O Heinous, the irreparable wrong
In the Nation of Tolerance, the end of a Pact:
People thought it was Islamist, Muslims were attacked
Hey Andrew Lacoste, I say welcome to Hell
Playing killer games in your solitary cell
Mr. Coward, what went wrong with your head
A murderer of children, and still you aren't dead

The Kingdom wept and protested with roses
I kept my uniform on and continued my poses
They gathered at Young's and sang children's songs
I kept listening to Burzum, unrepenting my wrong

To mother and daughter, to father and son:
I think Grief made us mad, each and every one
I had wept for four months and only felt rage
Gone were the days of the lyricist sage

I saw analysts grapple with Freedom of Expression
Using he massacre as a reason for Repression
I spoke out against them, here Justice ends
Not the kind of message that wins you new friends

2010, before everything went black
2010, now it's time to look back


Skyene på himmelen
vatnet i sjøen
doggen på båtane

kjem frå andedragi
åt dei som søv
under sypressane

7. String The Bow Of Sorrow


A vessel filled with flowers burning in the bay
The giver of life claimed by death so fast
String the bow of sorrow for a salute
Arrows of eternity, of all the ones I loved

So many departures, so many women gone
I swim the sea of tears, covered with salt
Now I know what it feels like to lose protection
Your body is gone, it left me in a hearse

It may sound cynical, but this life is mine
Life is for the living, that is undeniable
When your image is gone, my face will be blue
Through time and space, womanity be one

You're no more in the phonebook
The statements have been written
Goodbye, Norwegian mother
The quiver of time is empty

SOLEFALD, 15.9.1995

La martyren salve sine sår,
Er jeg ditt fiolette fragment?

La naturen klage sine år,
Hvem av oss har linsen som blinder?

Jeg ante ditt nærvær i min drøm
Så jeg bakom honningens ansikt?

Mystikkens fjes forsvinner med deg,
Synker ned i den siste dvale

Snu for meg din fatale bane,
Stig fra en heroisk horisont


You liked AC/DCs «Hell's Bells», but Slayer was no stayer:
I know how much you hated that Slaytanic Wehrmacht patch
In the end, you did set it onto my black denim jacket
I picture your afterlife in Freya's wooden halls
Robed in light colours as an Art Nouveau lady
You go for walks in the forest of oaks
Where bumblebees hum and blackbirds sing
Maybe you paint watercolour like you used to
Enjoy cake and champagne and immortal youth
I will leave you here, where you sat with your parents
On the simple wooden staircase
Where bumblebees hum and blackbirds sing
As the evening breeze sways the firs in the sunset
- Solefald

8. Oslo Melancholy


Havet ligg i natti
blåsvarte tonar

Ein ser svane
sankar skjel

Ein ser hegre
brenner bål

Liner glid
til himmels

Soli vart kaldare
enn månen

Dagen vart raud
um munnen

Dine varme
små hender

heldt meg
i regnet

Um hausten lyfter ein sumaren
upp or havet, drypande

pakkar honom i presenning
til soli kjem att

Lazare Nedland — Vocals, Keyboards, Synth
Cornelius Jakhelln — Vocals, Guitars, Bass, Kazoo

Lyrics in plain text format

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