SED NON SATIATA ---------------------------------------------

MEN WITHOUT FACES
We certainly should have run far from here before becoming men without faces. The bloody hands get lost before becoming men without faces. Even though we exorcise the senses by these instants where the essence of the being oozes and roll beneath the wax before a rattle is being felt the one of the men without faces. Behind this mask a being dies breathless he will finally surrender as if bewitched behind this mask that imprisons every one of these looks. Harmful behaviors are banned in some ways with draw or die, behind this mask a being dies. So let us belong to this fringe of satisfied but dead beings deliberately existing to better escape, this rancid fringe of people for whom exultation is merely the mask of possession. Men without faces have taken the streets, they wander...

MASKS
With an heavy and thick black net, covering what is already there, thinking of strongly rejecting the evidences, a pomp does not hide anything, it simply reveals. A white and pristine collar, around a delicate neck, rough and volatile miasmas, a whole body seems to move, in a smooth and seducing rhythm. Sad time, sad period beautiful life, beautiful men in fashion. Sad time, sad period beautiful life, beautiful ladies in fashion. Two assemblies of flesh attempt to discover each other, they will only find a black and shiny applat. Brief embrace from a fondation too thick blushing in a drunken embrace.

INTERLUDE
Instrumental

RUINS
Maybe we should still ask ourselves upon the way to proceed because when this world will collapse On his ruins what way will we choose? Will it be possible to reshape this ruins without first braking the chains that on the the verge of the ancien world restrain our ideas, our thoughts. Where will we let ourselves drift upon the waves, beyond the slogans of dirty mouths and inherited ideas? We must first learn how to live or survive because when this wold will collapse what will we become? When this world will collapse under the troubled eyes of those who naively thought that all this never ends. Upon those old bodies life has dug some deep furrows, forgotten paths on those old bodies time will finish to carve its print so we don’t forget. We will have to learn how to read in those furrows in those grooves that on those old bodies time has traced, to read the shame on those wrinkled faces. Always wanting security we tend to forget the vulnerability of a city plunged into the darkness of those bodies left to chance. The consequences: Some drowned smiles in rivers of tears.

DAITRO ------------------------------------------------------------

WATER FLOWS UNDER BRIDGES
Water flows under bridges to catch up with old things whom name and use have been forgotten, in order to make them useful and vaguely human. Fatalists dropped their arms. Father dropped his arms. Mother dropped her arms. Sometimes in the evening I think about dropping my arms. What makes us all want to drop our arms… is it because some said the fight was lost before it was even started ? Who won and who lost ? Winners of today are losers of tomorrow. Who shall win and who shall lost. Whatever. What matters is not the victory but the fight.

PLACE TOLOZAN
Instrumental

WE’RE NOT ALL PART OF THE SAME UTOPIA
Stares destroy faces, nobodies scream sharp sentences of perfect truths they might not have lived nor even read. Who are they to authorize themselves such pathetic judgements, asking for a pure and monochrome justice ? Using their sharp sentences of perfect truths, quick judgements, and shapeless arguments… being happy inside perfect truths while demanding risk taking and self-challenging, but in the name of who ? From one world to the other the same old judgements remain, painless dogma remains, shapeless violence remains, all for the sake of ideas that smell like old dust and pre-conceived frustration. This so-called free truths can only breed fear of everybody else.

A PLAGUE FOR ANOTHER
No reason to be proud of a religion-free power when it defends the wealthy. Objectivity is no more when fortune is a media, media is a power, power is a leader, and a leader is a fortune. The snake swallowed its tail and now it’s our turn to drink it all until we choke. Religion used to be the opium of the masses, now the opium is too expensive for our pathetic purses. We save our asses with cheap drugs but when rehab feels like reformatory school , then we know it’s hard to get over it, but we also know it gains a value since we have done it alone and free. Nothing is ever lost and kind words from an independent power should never make us forget that the world we live in puts barriers in front of us and kills our desires to live better. We can always do better. If there is nothing left to do, there should be at least something better to do