Borgne
Temps Morts
1. To Cut the Flesh and Feel Nothing But Stillness
I hate you! I despise you!
For you are the Abyss of my heart, the Zenith of my decay.
And I will bury your corpses, under mountains of torments.
The sky holder will abandon his due,
And all the stars will fall upon you.
To cut the flesh and feel nothing but stillness.
I hate you! I despise you!
I used to think that life
Was a straight line on which I walked.
How can a single instant
Be the convergence of an Infinity of moments?
The Past, Present and Future
Are just words that give us an illusion of understanding,
Of control,
Upon a torrent that forever flows in all directions.
But this path is not without thorns.
2. The Swords of the Headless Angels
For the Ones who look at the skies
May miss the danger in front of them.
I was a dreamer, whispering to the stars,
Without getting any answers.
As I nourished the hunger of the well,
With meaningless illusions.
And you were also bathed in your own lies.
I would like to tighten your throat,
Keep you below the waves of denial
Until your last spark goes out
And the turmoil stops.
Will we ever realize
That every prayer hides a curse?
A bottle thrown into an ocean of vanity
Thinking that our problems deserve to be solved
Without poisoning others’ chalices.
I would like to tighten your throat,
Keep you below the waves of denial
Until your last spark goes out
And the turmoil stops.
When the swords of the headless angels,
Who come upon the Earth in a ghostly procession,
Will afflict the fundaments of our shrines,
Will we be able to accept our defeat?
Will we see a wise radiance behind the curtains of grief?
Or will we sink, blind again,
Into the streams of deception and delusion
While singing some insane, meaningless and empty litanies?
The witches aren’t dancing around the fires anymore.
A mysterious peril hides, needing no spell,
Standing against a self-destroying tribe.
3. L’écho de mon mal
La haine enivre celui qui souhaite la goûter.
Une mélasse noire qui corrompt et consume.
Mais dont l’apparente douceur me fait oublier mes valeurs.
Une euphorique Furie dirigée à ton encontre.
Il me manque le courage d’accepter ce qui ne peut être dit.
D’oser ce qui ne peut être fait.
De pouvoir te pardonner.
Sous ton apparente innocence se cachent les pires atrocités.
Aiguisé comme l’outil que porte L’Ombre de la dernière rencontre,
Ton regard est l’écho de mon Mal.
Quelle idée absurde que celle qui nous fait penser
Que le Passé n’a rien à nous révéler.
J’étais un fou, qui buvait à la coupe de l’ignorance
Et s’étonnait de voir sa soif ne jamais se dissiper.
Comment pourrais-je trouver ces clefs,
Si tu ne cesses de me hanter?
Car même là où les trois formes se mêlent,
Il n’y a point de Salut.
À la recherche du brasier des sens,
Je cours en portant une torche qui ne cesse de s’éteindre.
Ne sachant si sa lueur percera le voile de ma nuit
Et réchauffera le voyageur que je suis.
Car il n’y a pas de destination, pas de repos.
Et sur ma route, les corps s’amoncelant
Obstruent le chemin et gorgent la terre de sang.
Une direction salvatrice?
Une porte ouvrant sur une vision
Au-delà des murs froids et humides?
Mais j’avance. La tête baissée.
Pensant que le répit
Est comme un point sur une carte,
Dont les détails me sont illisibles.
La brise glaçante caresse mes os.
Je suis le dédale dans lequel
Aucun indice ne fut laissé.
4. Near the Bottomless Precipice I Stand
Every line has a shadow.
Thus preached the Creator of disasters.
The one who refused to saw the Death in front of him
And led the way to the higher spheres.
And you, a useless and awful ornament,
Into the horrible mouth you fall,
With your body consumed by the Void in the sky.
My feet bear the weight of my fears
And all my senses tell me to turn back.
But our Lifes rime with futility
And we look at the sun in order to burn our eyes.
In the Firmament,
All the cups are pouring their wrath upon us,
All temples must collapse on their altars
And this delightful tragedy will erase all perverted particules.
The fiery rays that come from the Center
Blaze the thin layers of Life.
Every road has an end.
Thus spoke the ninth Unknown.
The one who saw the pile of corpses
And became the keeper of the worst secrets.
And me, a failing and broken tool,
Near the bottomless precipice I stand
With my mind focused on the starless horizon.
But the sweet chants resonate
And I see a world hidden behind the opaque fog.
At a certain point,
All Gods are supposed to fall from their Heavens,
And this descent will sound like a mellow cataclysm.
5. I Drown My Eyes into the Broken Mirror
I drown my eyes into the broken mirror,
A realm of sharpened fragments,
All oriented in different directions,
To reflect multiple visions of this so-called Reality.
A decomposition of Space and Time
Incarnated in front of myself.
A daily tool transformed into the witness
Of the smallness of our kind.
6. Vers des horizons aux teintes ardentes
Mensonges et réalité se mêlent
En une alchimique image
Dont les contours
N’ont pas de limites
Et dont l’acte me fait ressentir une présence.
Un regard immobile qui scrute pourtant toutes les directions.
Plus il m’est donné d’apprendre et de savoir,
Plus la résolution des questions qui me tourmentent
Ne se projette que comme un vain et lointain espoir.
Et j’erre en tentant de lire cette boussole,
Qui n’indique plus le Nord.
Mais s’oriente, au gré des tempêtes,
Vers des horizons aux teintes ardentes.
Y a-t-il seulement une sortie?
J’y ai longtemps songé.
Je tirais sur une corde
Qui, à aucun instant, ne se tendait.
Dura Lex, Sed Lex.
Et j’erre en tentant de lire cette boussole,
Qui n’indique plus le Nord.
Mais s’oriente, au gré des tempêtes,
Vers des horizons aux teintes ardentes.
7. Where the Crown Is Hidden
Isn’t it ironic,
That the sheeps searching for a shelter to rest,
Fall asleep into the wolves’s lair?
Am I strong enough
To break the shackles of my Ego
And transcend the mirage?
To not follow my deepest instincts
The ones that lead me
Straight into this rotten oasis?
The endless desert,
This barren earth,
Where the crown is hidden,
Is transforming itself,
Forever and ever.
8. Even If the Devil Sings into My Ears Again
The two-faced sculpture brings us the Truth
That can only be seen into the reflections of the scythe
And vanishes itself with the dawn.
But in the end,
Even if the Devil sings into my ears again,
Should I decide to keep you alive?
We look at this cadaveric edifice
Without recognizing that the delirium
of the ever-growing tower
Keeps burning in our hearts.
But in the end,
Even if the Devil sings into my ears again,
Should I decide to keep you alive?
As if the only goal we try to achieve
Is to build wax statues under the burning Sun.
9. Everything Is Blurry Now
As the headless one is looking for a shelter for his soul,
I understand that my temple is one of a kind.
Golden columns hidden behind ashes and dust.
I want to grab one of these fragments and hurt the whole Creation.
For your love is my hate,
And your laughs are my cry!
For your life is my pain,
And I want you to die!
I use to think that all of this wasn’t real,
That I will open my eyes
And perceive the real colors.
But every breath keeps me blind
And I just cumulate the errors.
Why can’t I easily cut these chains?
Why did you leave me there?
Your hand was my only escape,
But everything is blurry now.
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