Bosse-de-Nage все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Rows of tall, windowless buildings enclose a desolate street. All of their lines are rigid and clean; there is no garbage or dirt on any surface. A warm but dim light of indistinct origin causes their shadows to stretch unnaturally and assume a color darker than midnight. An observer, his mind swollen and stale, props his heavy body against a building in order to concentrate. A silent mob drags a woman's limp body across the street in front of him. Her shirt rips exposing her breasts. This moment exerts pressure on the observer. He turns his gaze to a nearby tree. Its growth, a gesture invisible to his eyes, but persistently present, suggests alternative counsel. His fatigue is overwhelming. At such junctures a man determines how to dedicate his life.

A subtle change in the light or an abrupt noise
Perhaps a word or phrase that ignites the intellect
A decision made on a whim or after careful consideration
The slightest incident…
Any of these might be the catalyst which
Starts one racing inexorably down the road with the darkest
conclusion

When she was a child, Marie decided to live her life as a horse.
She greatly enjoyed her agony, but eventually the humiliations of
the saddle lost their appeal. She lives with me now, in this house
where every night we play the same game. It begins at dusk;
Marie taunts me with her naked breasts, which hang like
dazzling moons, then I dump one of our many overflowing
ashtrays over her body. The ashes cling to the urine on her torn
clothes forming new, amusing patterns each time. At night she

I leave this old thing here on the ground to decay in the sun’s light.
It was a part of me, but it has its own atmosphere now.
It is useless to me. I walk away.
Why doesn’t it disappear? Where does its disgusting smell come from?
The stench follows me: on sidewalks, in courtyards, to a bench in the park.
I return the next day. I see people walk on it and drive their cars past it. Dogs stop to piss on it. Nobody appears to notice it reflecting them, no one smells it, no one sees me watching it.
Now old and fetid, but liberated and perpetual; it was a part of me.

Unseeing Melancholy, whose vision is obstructed, but not asleep
Advised a young man to inhale her bilious gas from a bottle,
Whose interior is lined with mirrors.
The look on his face after he breathed that vapor startled the
gardener,
Whose vast city of plants sustains the bees.
“Reflect upon your life which is irreversible like my draft,” she
said.

In the next room there is a faint cry from a woman who fades rapidly. My horror and curiosity draw me to the front door. On the other side of its mirror threshold a man waits for me. His countenance mutates and changes the nature of the world. He forces me into the Death Posture. Prone before the mirror I experience an ineffable transubstantiation. I regret his gift of oblivion. A single moment of reflection, panic and terror then an unconscious journey and evaporation. The Death Posture offers no time for awareness or knowledge. I cry desperately for help, but in the next room all they hear is a faint cry from a man who fades rapidly.

Observe your years of anonymous industry from a distance
You exist suspended in the fumes of a postulated hell
Where fatigue and despair are unchecked:
The city’s streets are filled with people in a tableau of routine
One day, you trip on a broken road and they scream and cry
You settle waist deep in their insults while
Your life’s work is scattered by their stinking breaths
Remember that you existed in the same place one year ago, ten

I traveled to the province of staircases. The great variety of
balusters, railing, finials and steps filled me with awe. Many
looked welcoming, while others were intentionally obscured or
blocked up, and some were decorated with vibrant warnings to
anyone who might ascend. I found the most modern looking
staircase and climbed. After a while, I stopped on a landing to
rest. This extraordinary landing was home to dozens of living
statues, obsequious stone gods begging for spare hands. As I

____ fell into the space between thoughts
His six plump breasts surged and emptied
All desire and language fell away
And just as he began to grow transparent
The image of a cabinet occurred to him
It’s open doors a symbol of inanimate mercy
The temptation to struggle was rehabilitated
But the cabinet soon tumbled away

On the other side of the glass, the night asserts its authority; but
we are inside, suspended by spirits, and preserved in a healthful
light that fills the room and shines out through large windows to
the edge of the clearing.
Twigs crack like whips as a woman emerges from the forest. She
steps forth, bearing a dark cylinder; it stands in prominent
contrast to her nudity as she moves into the light. The room is
crowded, but I’m the only one watching as she takes the cylinder