1. |
Pravda the overdriver
04:13
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PRAVDA THE OVERDRIVER
Awaken in the mud
Of the human existence
She sacrifices the light
Dashing on the asphalt
The wind is whistling in her hear, while....
Megalopoli collapses in the lights !
As we raise our tins !
Lycanthropes are catching the moon
And dancing on their inquisitor's scalps !
You can see behind the flames the stars growing pale
You can feel on your mouth your blood flowing down
Pravda listen to the flame's sing that devoures
the neon-metropolis in a night without moon.
The fluid of forgivness is flowing
But her heart is too hard for the love's blade
Dark is the horizon
In her eyes there's the night
Megalopoli collapses beetwen the lights !
As we raise our tins !
Lycanthropes are catching the moon
And dancing on their inquisitor's scalps !
The last sigh echoes in the night
Pravda is standing and watching the horizon
Wild queen of a boundless realm
Without subjects and richness, without gods and wars.
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2. |
L'inverno di Lisa
03:18
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LISA'S WINTER
The city is an opaque mirror
one fast gesture on the misted glass -
The trees are freezed out there in the park
Still skeletons in an eternal present -
Mute witness of the flowing life
You'll see the winter is over...
Lisa feels something wrong, her man shoots in Vietnam
This will be a long winter !
The sound of the snow is whispering the explosions
The shoots echoes in the sky...
Here we are dying in a white silence, there they are dancin' at machinegun's rhythm
Run, my soldier, you can't die, Lisa's heart is pounding only for you !
Corn-flakes, milk, dietetical bisquits, the peace's banner are high at camp
Here we are protesting against war, there they are praying with pagan gesture
Here we are dying in a white silence, there they are dancin' at machinegun's rhythm
Run, my soldier, you can't die, Lisa's heart is pounding only for you....
Lisa feels something wrong, her man shoots in Vietnam
This will be a long winter !
The sound of the snow is whispering the explosions
The shoots echoes in the sky...
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3. |
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CRUEL INSTANTS OF YOUTH
Fast as kisses without love
Thin as leaf, as almighty gods...
Those mute gazes in the arms of the dawn
With the sun in our hands
And the burnin' instants
Engraved in the eyes
In those emptiness...
In those emptiness...
In those emptiness WITHOUT END !
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4. |
Bandiere da bruciare
02:19
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FLAGS TO BURN
I can hear the wind blowing
Blows from distant lands
Bringing something with him...
That burns the silence !
The wind sighs triumphs and bitter defeats
He sighs burning words of fighting and pain
The stones throwed impregnated with screams
Are stars falling down in a bloody sky
Flags to burn, death to ideologies !
I can hear the wind whispering
The name of every soldiers
And every name is a machinegun's fire
That burns the silence !
The wind sighs triumphs and bitter defeats
He sighs burning words of fighting and pain
The stones throwed impregnated with screams
Stars are falling down in a bloody sky
Flags to burn, death to ideologies
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5. |
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BELFAST BURNS IN SARA'S EYES
A black coffee, a dusky sky
Sara is pulling the syntethical curtain
The snow covers the icy street
Now it's time, she hasn't to wait any more
The snow is falling over the houses
Sara bends down to get her bag
She closes the door turning the key
All is silence...
Sara has the pride of a people of fairies
The brother's blood slaughtered by war
In her deep eyes there are only silver tears
For all of those friends, killed over the cement
In the Cafè all is quiet
But perhaps her heart is pounding faster
She takes a quick look and enters in the toilet
She opens her bag, there's the present !
Little wirings linked to the mechanism
Icy hands are shaking
Tension, explosive, the timer is fixed
Run Sara, RUN SARA !
Siren far away, the dimmed screams
The bloody roar in the wind
Snow is falling in a deep coma
Another wound, another wound !
Belfast echoes of a thousand silence
Of throwed rocks, of vain prayers
The Irish war has killed enough !
The Irish war has killed enough....
Sara has the pride of a people of fairies
The brother's blood slaughtered by war
In her deep eyes there are only silver tears
For all of those friends, killed over the cement
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6. |
Fiori marci nei fucili
02:34
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ROTTEN FLOWERS IN THE GUNS
A wire of thorns, rags, white-neon's sky
Fire of hate and unexploded bomb – beware the curfew !
Open your eyes, there's no fear – the battle is now lost
The fight is extinguished in the streets – you have to put some flowers on the tombs !
Another voice dies behind the sky
The freedom flame is burning
Rotten flowers in the guns
And another fire is now bursting !
Flee soldier, don't be a hero
Throw away your gun and run faster
Don't listen to the drums of war
Defend your brothers !
Drink to freedom
for the peace for your people
Water the Dreams of your country
Listen to the far screams !
Flee.....without delay ! Face the wind that will be !
Another voice dies behind the sky
The freedom flame is burning
Rotten flowers in the guns
And another fire is now bursting !
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7. |
Berlino Est 1980
02:12
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EAST BERLIN 1980
Here there's no sea, no sun, there is no place for love
Only damp cellars to make some noise under a grey dusty-cemently sky
Drink my rebel fellow to your dreams
Gestapo is coming with cudgels again
Run to the sewer of the great formicary
For you there's no tomorrow, there's no future.
Records, studs, beers and whyskey, freedom will be in the last tin
But shut up now ! Regime can hear us and He puts the rebels boys straight on into asylum
Drink my rebel fellow to your dreams
Gestapo is coming with cudgels again
Run to the sewer of the great formicary
For you there's no tomorrow, there's no future
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8. |
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TO DIONYSUS DAYS
Hidden far away from the fire
Counterfeiter of the king's gold
We are eating banquet of withered stars
We are signing secret ways
But now the wind of return is blowing
Now the sun is rising up over the waves
Burn the banners and unfurl the sails
We will meet far away from here...
Where the sun is burnin', where whyskey doesn't cost too much
To the neverending days
Where the name of the heretic triumphants is echoes
Where the ghosts rule and men don't known the meaning of hierarchy
To Dionysus Days....
We distill this nectar from the fallen petals
Bitter as the sound of the swords
Distilled with the darkest tears
Darker than the war clouds
But now the wind of return is blowing
Now the sun is rising up over the waves
Burn the banners and unfurl the sails
We will meet far away from here...
Where the sun is burnin', where whyskey doesn't cost too much
To the neverending days
Where the name of the heretic triumphants is echoes
Where the ghosts rule and men don't known the meaning of hierarchy
To Dionysus Days....
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9. |
I logori stendardi di Wu
04:10
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THE WORN BANNERS OF WU
Standing still on the shore after a dusty travel
Drinking wine at the feet of a wordless stone God
Here the sun is dancing on the adamantine waves
And the autumn wind blows announcing the cold winter...
Now what is left of that ancient and noble splendour '
When kings keep in hands gods' will
When they are waving in vain....
The worn banners of Wu
The spirit's voices are moving the clouds
And the warriors' laments are rising from the ground
Here where heroes are dust and human sign is vain
Where the glory of the kings is corroded by insects....
Now what is left of that ancient and noble splendour '
When kings keep in hands the will of the gods,
When are waving in vain...
The worn banners of Wu
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Kalashnikov collective Milano, Italy
Kalashnikov were born in 1996 on the dirty floor of a squat in Milano, Italy, to give vent to the adolescent restlessness of three punx. Under the drunkenness of the heavenly libertarian nectar and rejecting the ruling culture, Kalashnikov are created with the wish to put together their own utopias and passion... ... more
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Sei Vivo, Sei Morto A Nessuno Importa
by KOMPLOTT
"Non preoccuparti, vedrai... la guerra è lontana la fine è vicina".
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