Orgone
–
Circulated Treason (2008, The Joyless Parson)
- Продолжительность:
- 10:36
- Формат:
- mp3
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Текст песни "Orgone — Circulated Treason (2008, The Joyless Parson)"
Genre: Progressive/Technical Death/Jazz Fusion
A hawk glides away from a flock of pursuing geese who pester her, first as precaution and then for the lust of coordinated murder I see her muscles expand as beaks excavate her feathers, submerge in her veins and puncture her proud, outstretched body, until she contorts
and falls from the sky a broken umbrella spewed from the churning gears of a freightship coerced into a stagnant ocean, a waveless oblivion, void of course.
I await the same ending, a powerful sprint from the red-eyed ritualists: patrons of the rotting gate, blessed architects of delumination who lasso the sun so piously worshiped, to quarantine light in wretched temples knowledge disemboweled, its noble core discarded for
immediate fruit
Ignorance is an expired sedative an indiscriminate gallop into the clamp of predators who cheer the fools that embellish their cages while whistling in naked retrograde.
In her fumbling descent, I saw your pleading eyes: the extinction of my imperfect idol.
I stood there bruised, a shattered mandolin in the desolation of the rubble And I burrowed outwardly, a sullen elephant, unconvinced of this outlandish liberation And it came for me: the healing cloud, at an agonizing and casual pace Its face in a permanent stupor,
pulseless and maniacal I grated my slabs of essence onto the surface of the earth and it made no progress in my direction It stared pale and mute as I violently, inwardly rattled, like a bloated cantaloupe in the exposed sun, a cluster of coarse feathers separated from
the wing, powerless. I felt the desecration of primordial chaos: the furious, scalping, wailing wind that reduced me, nearly to bone. Then the rain, that soaked my clothes into uselessness, idolized shelter and sent the spider-flicker of fingers onto my exhausted
eyelids, soothing everything.
But when the sensation has diminished, I feel unworthy of pleasure a dragon whose heart has bursted from guarding alone a cache of treasure which no one values and no one visits.
