Oct. 24th, 2021 10:16 am
Antic Clay
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dogpackПереслушал собственный фанмикс про Рэнди Флэгга -- отличный фанмикс, невыносимо сатанинский! Но пару треков я бы в нем переставил местами.
А вот с этим треком я в свое время раздумывал, не включить ли его в фанмикс про Надин Кросс, но потом решил, что там и так ту мач, да и лирический герой тут все-таки разыскивает соседа по кресту, что не очень соответствует озабоченности Флэгга. Хотя некоторые места, безусловно, подходят: холокосты, геноциды, массовые убийства и безудержные суициды.
I will find you:
Below black pastures of the seas in roiled, dead debris of dreams
I will find you:
Above the bleached and breaking skies where angels masturbate and cry
I will find you:
Behind the trite atrocities and little pestilential blights
That verge to obfuscate the pleas I use to verify your life.
Through the ashes. Through the flames. Through the playgrounds of the plagues.
With blackened tongue, and poker face, with yellow song, and sleazy grace
Through stained conscience, deceiving guilt
With feigned science and massive will, will I find you?
I will find you:
Inside the pissant little jobs where my brief time is whored and robbed.
I will find you:
Inside the nighttime tv screen when all truth morphs into a scheme.
I will find you:
With my shiny hard control that serves to navigate that hole,
That serves to navigate that cunt that tells the hunters where to troll.
Through the mission of the missile, through the stagnant, skeletal sperm.
Through the bottom of the bottle, through the wisdom of the worm.
Through the convoluted heart, to its dessicated core,
Through the pulsing inner ordure, glowing, seething at the source
Of the viscera and turmoil, of the turbulence and gall,
From the vessel's deepest regions, from the fundament I call;
From the fragile architecture of our tragic machinations
For the luminous director of our gory copulations.
A humiliating mantra, yes, but I cannot disguise
The viral quagmire of my hatred and fecal tunnels of my lies:
I will find you.
I will find you:
For the holiest of chores is, was, and always will be war.
I will find you:
Upon the entrailed battle field, where your name was first revealed.
I will find you:
Beneath the bloody, spongy trees, beneath their gnarled, arthritic roots,
Among the earwigs and the maggots and the moaning mandrake shoots.
Through honey hives and larval apples where the networks come undone,
To the smiles of knives and scalpels, steel urethras of the guns.
From expulsion from the garden--go forth and multiply the carnage:
A bloody exodus is trodden through red grass into the furnace.
Through holocausts and genocides; mass murders, rampant suicides;
Extermination, immolation, constant executions, fusillades.
Through bombings, burnings, butchery;
Through lootings, lynchings, shooting sprees,
Through wholesale slaughter, massacres: the agony. The apathy.
The screaming mouths of mothers name the infants that they lost
But when I name you, will I know you when you're my neighbor on the cross?
Will I find you? Will I find you? Will I find you? Will I find you?
#gothic_country
А вот с этим треком я в свое время раздумывал, не включить ли его в фанмикс про Надин Кросс, но потом решил, что там и так ту мач, да и лирический герой тут все-таки разыскивает соседа по кресту, что не очень соответствует озабоченности Флэгга. Хотя некоторые места, безусловно, подходят: холокосты, геноциды, массовые убийства и безудержные суициды.
I will find you:
Below black pastures of the seas in roiled, dead debris of dreams
I will find you:
Above the bleached and breaking skies where angels masturbate and cry
I will find you:
Behind the trite atrocities and little pestilential blights
That verge to obfuscate the pleas I use to verify your life.
Through the ashes. Through the flames. Through the playgrounds of the plagues.
With blackened tongue, and poker face, with yellow song, and sleazy grace
Through stained conscience, deceiving guilt
With feigned science and massive will, will I find you?
I will find you:
Inside the pissant little jobs where my brief time is whored and robbed.
I will find you:
Inside the nighttime tv screen when all truth morphs into a scheme.
I will find you:
With my shiny hard control that serves to navigate that hole,
That serves to navigate that cunt that tells the hunters where to troll.
Through the mission of the missile, through the stagnant, skeletal sperm.
Through the bottom of the bottle, through the wisdom of the worm.
Through the convoluted heart, to its dessicated core,
Through the pulsing inner ordure, glowing, seething at the source
Of the viscera and turmoil, of the turbulence and gall,
From the vessel's deepest regions, from the fundament I call;
From the fragile architecture of our tragic machinations
For the luminous director of our gory copulations.
A humiliating mantra, yes, but I cannot disguise
The viral quagmire of my hatred and fecal tunnels of my lies:
I will find you.
I will find you:
For the holiest of chores is, was, and always will be war.
I will find you:
Upon the entrailed battle field, where your name was first revealed.
I will find you:
Beneath the bloody, spongy trees, beneath their gnarled, arthritic roots,
Among the earwigs and the maggots and the moaning mandrake shoots.
Through honey hives and larval apples where the networks come undone,
To the smiles of knives and scalpels, steel urethras of the guns.
From expulsion from the garden--go forth and multiply the carnage:
A bloody exodus is trodden through red grass into the furnace.
Through holocausts and genocides; mass murders, rampant suicides;
Extermination, immolation, constant executions, fusillades.
Through bombings, burnings, butchery;
Through lootings, lynchings, shooting sprees,
Through wholesale slaughter, massacres: the agony. The apathy.
The screaming mouths of mothers name the infants that they lost
But when I name you, will I know you when you're my neighbor on the cross?
Will I find you? Will I find you? Will I find you? Will I find you?
#gothic_country
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Вон оно чо( а на доступных сайтах не появилось, чтоб как обычно ссылкой сюда вставить?
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