Dark Lyrics


1. No Return

Pushing the dirt, create a space, on your land. I sent you back, we weren’t supposed to meet, but we did. No return. The echo of the remains, of a place called home. No return. In response to a long scream, home. The echo, the remains, a place called home.

2. Absence And Despite

All my convictions turned to rust, washed away, from the second I met you. Staring at me, asking for shelter and I refused. I’m not your own, absent and despite, if you’re troubled, I’ll never be there, come close. The last thing you should pursue: that strong desire to reach me. Why track me down? I’m not the one to talk to. You need someone to grab your hand, or hug to say “I care”. You need a shoulder to lie on. Well seek somewhere else, ‘cause I won’t be there for you. You are my burden, your weight will always be too much. Repelled by your sight, I close my eyes to your distress. Through the good times and the bad times, don’t ever count on my support. It makes me feel good to see you sad. It makes me feel good. I want you quiet. I’ve never cared about your misery, your sad life that was calling for pity. I’ve always wished to see you lie, peacefully, quiet. Reunited for the last time, I sent you back, we weren’t supposed to meet. I dug a hole in your backyard, pushed the dirt, created a space. I dug a hole in your backyard, pushed the dirt, created a space. I dug you a hole in your backyard. In response to a long scream. The echo, the remains, a place called home.

3. Kelowna

The clock keeps ticking. The hour of light has faded, with the end crumbling into itself. The moment has been tasted, used, and thrown away. Time crashed. None of us paid attention. The glow has faded, and the memories, laughing in their corner. Smiling down on the irony. Defying, mocking the people that they carried.

4. As Empires Expand And Collapse

Marked, as empires expand and collapse, or beliefs that spread and wither. Control. A pattern of conquest and excesses that doom. Overweening ambition, or some poetic justice? you are tracing a life circle, confined, in a repeated pattern. Halfway through the process, you know how the other half will be. How could it be? How could it be? The same hands that gave peace and shelter to the ones that they are about to destroy. Despite all the greatness the decline will be for the same reasons. The length of chaos will be the one for your glory. Your descent. Your downfall.

5. Dead End

Does that writing on the wall tell us it’s not true? Less time to decide, clocks are burning. We’re now thrown together. There are few chances for a tomorrow. We’re not holding on. The curse is short but binding. The curse never ends. Last chance, claim your dependence. Don’t settle on what you’ve become. What I see is you and what you are doing. What I see in you; all the damage that has been done. No one knows. Last chance to damn and shout with a gun in your mouth. The curse is growing stronger. The curse has taken over. The curse is going nowhere ever. We’re lost in this, dead-end. The curse has knocked us down. Strengthened with our flaws. The curse is us, andd everything. We’re lost in this, dead-end.

6. Driving Through Fallen Cities

7. La Culture Du Faux

sur le papier glacé,
loin de ton art.
peu credible.
Ta vie étalée
un oeuvre vite brossée.
Un peuple a soif, quémande à la merci de l’annecdote.
C’est la famine
de l’indiscretion.
Le rouage d’un voyeurisme
carburant aux détails.
de connaitre les moindres faits et gestes,
de traquer.
Un buffet de futilités.
à sens unique.
Péché d'excès,
Péché d'excès.
le quotidien de l’étranger.
La trame,
plus importante que le fond.

8. State Of Panic

A state of panic will be spread. As a sign of hope, I will be your shelter. I will be your salvation. Only your fear will prevail. I'll infiltrate your home with a warm whispered sound. The doors are now open, as are the ones of a whole country that bled on its beliefs. Out of my window, the glow, the warm, the red. A civil brothel, selling his people for its mercy. A moment of comfort for broken men. A moment of peace or final relief.

9. No Place For Failure

I've embraced the reflection, the scenery, that bent back from my imagery. I compare, I inflect. Self-proclaimed judge of failure, Self-proclaimed judge of failure. On the single track of achievers I missed the core of my nature. I'm keeping the speed, the lead, focused on my contradictory reach. I ought to take possession. On the single track of achievers, driven by the wrong interests. I'm keeping the speed, the lead, focused, dependent on winning. In my obsession of recognition I exceeded my grasp at your expense. I believed. Raised up in a limited concept of self success, of narcissistic fulfillments. Focused on my own desired results. Raised up in a limited concept of self-success, I'm living the obvious futility, the loss of energy. I'm a narcissistic soldier; I battle to keep everyone down. Raised up in a limited concept of self success, I followed the traces, in the line of the achievers. Proud I raised and failed at building my true self. I'm a narcissistic soldier, I battle to keep everyone down.

10. The Storm

White lies. It was the loss of youthful purity. They created their path, seeked for insecurity and fed on the low self esteem. The problem in the solution. A black cycle made or relying on true fiction. Shades of truth lost in farfetched ridiculous stories. The mastery of language is the forfeit answer to stay in denial and stand by the storm. The entire walls were built with sand bricks. As everything piled up, the architect was left drained. All factors that bared upon him, always justified, always made of excuses. Refusal. All consequences removed and solutions refused. Eyes closed on the scale of it. This delusional world is euphoric, is in his hands. Master in procrastination with pernicious social skills, finding comfort in all of his beliefs. Walking on eggshells, underachieved, broken. This self-inflicted, hazed, deluded. Did you ever believe your own bullshit? Numerous were fooled with nice words and catch phrases, and the canvas finely created. Keep it spinning, before everything crashes. Almost invincible, you've touched the sky in a hurtful escape. Your vivid imagination glazed a pitiful existence. Sip slowly on your victory your reign is merely empty. The facade in pieces, you are exposed. Knife sharp facts broke their way to the top, deceiving everyone, with sadness and disgust. It was the loss of youthful purity. They created their path, seeked for insecurity and fed on the low self esteem. I can forgive, I just won't forget. We can forgive, we jsut won't forget.

11. Apathy Is A Karma Killer

If those few words were the last ones ever said. And this goodbye would be the final one. Those cents the last ones ever spent. If this night would stop or never end. The snow would never melt or the sun never be again. Could it be the last night and the last one, you? We would never grow old, become pale parodies and forget all of our memories. We would never know all about the upcoming failures in the world that carried us. We would avoid all the hatred, the wars, and the genocides, the breaking point of devastation, witness the world folding on itself. Isn’t it enough? We could be the next target in the war on power, terror, or in explosives attacks on fallen cities. Could it be the last night? We would miss the day of the sure awakening, the sleeping giant hate filled for his vengeance. Or the moment we won’t be able to afford more waste of human life. And more evidence of torture, widespread confusion and violence. If this was the last day I would tell you, I’m confused. All we do is fight. Life isn’t that nice. Karma is just a fairy tale. There is no promised land. Maybe your life would have been different. Maybe you would have been fulfilled or believed in god. You won’t see a world doomed to collapse. I can’t offer land, just a pile of toxic waste. Saving tomorrow, I have no fears. Going forward in the path of a lonesome quest, with the leftovers of an honest adventure. I will silence my rage and let bravery stand. The bland flavor, I spit on the basis of living. It’s over crowded dirty and useless, let me take a rest. We will avoid all the hatred, the wars, and genocides, the breaking point of devastation, witness the world folding on itself. You will never see or have your chance. This moment is our last one. Something will never happen; the start of your life, the day you would have seen the light. My hand is reaching for you, you my daughter. It’s our last night.

12. Golden Age

Lying in the streets of Berlin. Covered by the dust of fear and the remains of screams. Shinning in the single role of her career. Starring as a simple creature within the empire. The Golden age of motherhood. In the glamour of an obsessed nation. Giving up for the dreamed splendors, for a nice ending and for all power given to her smaller world.

13. The Pile Of Flesh You Carry

A life long obsession. The goal to achieve. A devotion, to the wealthy dream. The work, and first, your work. With the belief the world would have collapsed. With all the pride, the reward, of your own destruction, and every-one fallen side. Hundreds of hours of pride. Your golden timeless mid-life daydreams, they’ve splurged on meaningless luxuries. You can’t taste the benefits of a sacrifice life line story. Your punishing physical struggle. Helpless, in lost dreams? You pleaded out loud to ease the pain, to stop the nights, the sleepless nights. To silence, the pile of flesh you carry. Your eye blinks, saying thanks for the end of your despair. My sleepless night debating if I violated your right to life. If I fought for human dignity or for the last respect of life sacracy.

14. Sleepless

Drawn back, unresigned, blacked out from all the abuse. The firewater, the rains is pouring out the window and it will testify. I fell the rain drops on me, I cannot sleep, I cannot rest. Eyes wide open, they’re coming for me. All the noises timed, timed with my heart beats, makes it hard to focus. And this lucid conviction, this feeling, I’m being watched. It’s been too many nights. In the fainting light, I listen I hear the whispers. The voice enunciating my fate, shouting my irrelevant story, the plot and its ending in this endless flow. My limbs numbed, detached, I struggle to possess my own self. I ache and fear. The sound of the slow pace music, I’m fighting for the last chances to sleep. It’s been too many nights. The discomfort speech drilling my spine. High-pitch dissonance tearing in, feeding back.

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