Sopor Aeternus все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Я знаю, это должно быть прозвучит странно
но зимой, в его присутствии,
Я всегда чувствовала себя тепло и защищено
Я всегда знала, ни юбка, ни костюм никогда не станут причиной моего беспокойства
пока это продолжалось, пока он существовал, пока это продолжалось, пока этот мужчина оставался рядом со мной.

Мне нравится его общество, я наслаждаюсь им, это действительно так,
он единственный человечный друг, который у меня когда-либо был,

Seinem Geiste bekenne Ich Mich
Ein Sehnen verzehret sein schoenes Gesicht
Das ermattet von Guete beschattet allmaechtig ist

Sein Koerper bewegt sich nicht
Im Traume sich endlich sein Zwingen vergisst

Den heulenden Jubel erkenne Ich nicht

Пересекая мост

Издалека, из-за завесы сна
Какие-то древние голоса, кажется,
Нашептывают мое забытое имя -
Слабо, но торжественно.
Так отдаленно слышно, что можно подумать,
Будто это - всего лишь сон,

Anima II

The Woman I am no mirror can see,
My breasts are still small and my voice is so deep.
The Woman I am she cannot feel love,
I wish to cut my genitals and feed them to the dogs.
The Woman I am is receiving the pain.
The needles shall burn out the ugly remains.

Ivy kissed the shadows,
As mo(u)rning lusts for dew,
She with lips of sweetest pain,
Lies in wait for you.
With the dawn she went away,
Before mist veiled the earth,
Nothing remained - except for the wounds -
The only gift of her.

Темное восхищение
(посвящено Виктору Бертранду
исполнено живым без свидетелей... - для мертвых)

Руки, сложенные в мольбе
четки между них
сегодня вечером я присоединюсь к вам в вашем сне...
я верну вас к жизни этой ночью

Day Of The Dead

Unexpected...suddenly...as if from nowhere they appear,
the monks are wearing fire-coloured gowns,
their faces, friendly but determined, are hidden behind lacquered masks,
painted black&white, they're having the shape of over-dimensional skulls.

Quickly and nimbly they are moving forward, hopping dextrously,

Hidden behind merciful shadows, beyond the cruel daylight,
living to hunt and kill, we are the... damned children of the night.
Dragging our immune existence through thousands of centuries
and from dusk to dawn we suffer from our immortality.

Hosts contaminate our tombs and crosses burn our skin,
you can kill us a thousand times, but we're the ones,
who will always remain ... - In Pain ... In Pain:

Jenseits der Grenzen dieses Reiches
Zog eine Bardin weit durch das Land.
Sie kam mit dem Wind und sie folgte dem Morgen;
Der Spielleute Freiheit ist fern aller Sorgen...
Und so fand sie das Schloß an der Klippe Rand
Doch hatte die Zeichen nicht erkannt:
Das Dunkel des Himmels, des Sturmes Lied,
Das zu fliehen und niemals der Rückkehr ihr riet.

White as snow lie my lover's bones
in the soft, velvet soil of the vault,
And I, his bride, sleep by his side,
To celebrate our sacred love.
At times it seems that I'm existing only
within some fading memory,
But dreams are all sacred, dreams are all holy ... -
And, by far, still the safest place for my poor soul to be.

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule-
From a wild, weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

"Es wird wohl ein Tag wie all die ander'n werden", - so sagt' ich mir,
War innerlich bereit die üblen Wort' aufs neue zu ertragen,
Den täglich' Spott, das altbekannte Leid.
Doch zaubrisch, mächt'ge Dinge, die können jederzeit gescheh'n,
Mit off'nem Herz und Sinnen kann sterblich' Aug' sie seh'n...

Als ich dort saß, des Zuges kommen harrte,
Da sah ich sie, die ich in Kindertagen kannt'.

I found myself in a room that resembled a bath, saw my image
reflected, watched my genitals falling off. Oh, what a sight when I
understood the fright and what it (really) was: -as the old shape-
deceased the transformation increased...- "the unexpected path".
I awoke in a room that was entirely bath. I found my body reflected
while my genitals were rotting off. Like old leaves on a plant that
came to nothing on demand, dried they had no juice. Hanging on a
single thread, testicles of a dead, mummy-skin without use.

Ich ruf' Euch, Würmer, denn diese Leich' hält Einzug nun ins Totenreich. Zu schwerer Erden, kalt und klamm, trau' ich Euch meinen Liebsten an. Sein Leib, entseelt nun, bald Gebein, soll für Euch Fest und Wohnstatt sein. Von Stund' an mag er Euch gehör'n, und nichts soll Seinen Frieden stör'n!

I dreamt that I was lying on the bottom of the dark and never-ending sea, on a bed that my dead lover was preparing with his own skeleton for me ...

("...bring us a goat and we'll show you the way straight through the realm of the fallen and slain ...")

I sensed the wretched spectres of the drowned staring across from some distant shore, and in my sadness I drew closer, to condole and somewhat to implore...

I'm like the doubtful kiss of a corpse or maybe the kiss of an ancient stone. Yes, it's like kissing some marble statue that has neither warmth nor life of its own...

Ich wollte hinaus in den Garten,
zu begraben meines Liebsten Gebein‘,
doch als ich kam zu der Tür seiner Kammer,
da öffnet‘ ich sie und trat hinein.

Dort lagen noch all seine Sachen,
ganz so, als wär‘ er nicht fort.
Sein Duft, zarter Hauch in den Kleidern,

"...Armes, Dunkles Wolkenkind,
hast Dich erneut in Sturm gehullt,
im fadenschein'gen Pechgewand
Dich selbst in ew'ger Nacht verbannt.
Die undurchdringlich' zweite Haut,
hat die Grenze zur Welt erbaut...-
als Eierschale, hart wie Stein,
lasst sie kein Licht noch Warme ein.

In einer dunklen Stunde, ach,
Alle Stunden sind dunkel hier.
Aus einem Becher von zartestem Flieder
Trinken wir Tee - allein mit mir.

(Одним темным часом,

Ах, все часы темны здесь;

Infant
Would you bare your neck to the walking dead...
Secretly, at least, within the safety of your head?
Isn't it nice - every once in a while
Being the centre of attention of a loving,
Handsome... Parasite,
Answering your call, the invitation of the scar,
For being wanted - accepted - for the way you feel you are?!

...Здесь, под этим старым камнем,
Покоятся вблизи друг от друга тела
Двух существ, которые были как единое целое.
Когда один из них умер,
Другой последовал за ним в могилу...
Не позднее, чем через год...

Ach, hatt' ich heut' drei Wunsche frei,
die Wahll fiel mir nicht schwer,
drei Wunsche nur, das reichte aus,
ich bracuhte garnicht mehr.

Mein erster Wunsch, gesteh' ich gern,
war' nur fur mich allein...-
Ich wurd' vernichten meinen Leib,

Пиявки и обман

Старый монах, один из телемитов или «воронов» - родственных религиозных сект,
Одет в старое рваное одеяние из джута.
Он заперт в крошечном ящике в форме куба, в стене.
Ящик тот выкрашен в темно-красный цвет и цвет полуночного неба.

Когда, наконец, дверь открылась, он истошно закричал,

Oh, I the wetly weak claw
led by his strong warm paw
walking the forbidden path
through high uncut summer grass
while hunters nose dive
membranes servants to their flight
were buzzing all around our heads
black parasol, balance and shades

Infants like phantoms, denied and suspected, their existence discovered always when least expected. Prepared for the day, the knight, he just cannot keep the perfect mask in its place, when he is falling asleep. Faces slacken in slum ber, each rigid muscle relaxes, without warning the hidden child comes to the surface. From the deepest darkness, some unnameable place, of the tower inverted, forms a different face; climbing upwards with effort, to see through the eyes. ..- windows to the soul -now shut- are starring inside. And while the outside beholder sees the face of a child, this fearful and helpless infant turns to a wild beast inside: becomes the architect of the most terrible dreams and puts a crue l fears of death into our hero's sleep...

This child is a dragon, who you must strive to kill, though it defeated you once ... and, yes, it always will! Oh, little velveteen knight (and heroes of all kinds), endeavour to slay the dragon... (... and yourselves when you try)! Yes, this monster's immortal ... and your fight is in vain, it only will last forever, some monsters just cannot be slain. This infant's beast ..., and the dragon's its guardian, protecting his child, so that no-one can harm it, their most gruesome s hape puts the fear of death into our supposed (but velveteen) hero; yet, you must get me right: there is no choice for the child, its intentions are good and always upright. Tell me, why do you from?

Do you bear questions ... or doubt?
Have you not recognised that both, dragon and child, are in face more than kin...- they represent the same thing! And all our characters that you will see or seem are merely part of the dreamer ... and therefore the dream.

Who is the old man, who fills
my heart with greatest pain
yet his name remains unheard?
I look at you and true tears shake
my eternal Saturnworld.
Who is the old man, whose
picture burned itself
down to the bottom of my soul.

*Minnesang*

Oh, wie gern' würd' er Euch künden
Von der Welt und wie er sie sieht,
Doch wie könnte von etwas er sprechen,
Von dem er absolut nichts versteht?!
Wie gern' würd' er Euch singen
Von der Liebe, die alles durchwebt,

Now and then I'm scared, when I seem to forget how sounds become words or even sentences ... No, I don't speak anymore and what could I say, since no-one is there and there is nothing to say ...

So, I prefer to lie in darkest silence alone ... listening to the lack of light, or sound, or someone to talk to, for something to share ...- but there is no hope and no-one is there.

No, no, no ...- not one living soul and there is nothing (left) to say, in darkness I lie all alone by myself, sleeping most of the time to endure the pain.

I am not breathing a word, I haven't spoken for weeks and yet the mistress inside me is (secretly) straining her ears. But there is no-one, and it seems to me at times that with every passing hour another word is leaving my mind ...

Now and then I'm scared, when I seem to forget
how sounds become words or even sentences...
No, I don't speak anymore and what could I say,
since no-one is there and there is nothing to say...

So, I prefer to lie in darkest silence alone...
listening to the lack of light, or sound,
or someone to talk to, for something to share...-

Old, senseless thoughts half-frozen in loneliness,
Faster and faster we're spinning in circles;
Imprisoned in pain, floating without sound,
The dead in the mist aimlessly wandering around.

Our sad eyes say: "We have lost our view!"
Dead souls without rest, the graves are lonely and cold.
But the promised peace I'm afraid we'll never find,

Weit fort von jedem bekannten Land,
hinter den Grenzen, in Steine gebannt...
dort ruht ein Geheimnis von dunkler Macht,
welches jedem, der's sah, grosses unglück gebracht.

Dort, verschlossen in tiefstem Gestein,
hinter der Brücke aus bleichem Gebein,
über dem See, der aus Tränen geweint,

„Schatten, Schatten, komm‘ herbei,
auf diesem Lager harrt ein Leib!
Die Brust, die unstet steigt und sinkt,
der Atem neues Leid nur bringt...!"
Ein Seufzen, schwach, er zittert arg,
sein trüber Blick nimmt nichts mehr wahr,
sein stummer Mund sagt: „Laß‘ mich geh’n!",
und jede Faser scheint zu fleh’n.

„Schatten, Schatten, komm‘ herbei,
auf diesem Lager harrt ein Leib!
Die Brust, die unstet steigt und sinkt,
der Atem neues Leid nur bringt...!"
Ein Seufzen, schwach, er zittert arg,
sein trüber Blick nimmt nichts mehr wahr,
sein stummer Mund sagt: „Laß‘ mich geh’n!",
und jede Faser scheint zu fleh’n.

Что-то злое приходит отсюда

Возможно, это - самая грустная история, полная боли и страданий,
Потому что из всех имен и фраз этого смертного мира,
Есть только одно, которое я ненавижу больше остальных,
И этот самое отвратительное слово - "Мать".

Наверно, это - самая грустная история, полная боли и страданий,

"... kiss the corpse, the blessed sigh, enter the garden of the night.
Shed a tear, suspended in fear ... - Every soul is starving here ..."

The silence of the graves is not silent at all:
Millions of the dead are crying in their graves,
But no-one can hear them ... no-one ever hears ...
No-one can hear them ... Except for the dead themselves.

Would your bare your neck ... to the walking dead ...
Secretly, at least, within the safety of your head?
Tell me, isn't it nice - every once in a while -
Being the centre of attention of a loving,
Handsome ... Parasite,
Answering your call, the invitation of the scar,
For being wanted - accepted - for the way you feel you are ?!

Alas, let me tell you about the beauty of the tomb:
the stained glass, all viole(n)t, enhancing the gloom.
Dark flowers, all withered, fragile and old,
yet, their perfume still lingers like a secret untold.
Like a dream, or a memory that floats in this vault,
waiting for the moment it shall be recalled
by some visitor, maybe, who is seeking release
from a strange kind of sadness, some unknown disease.

[Tales From The Inverted Womb]

Alas, let me tell you about the beauty of the tomb: the stained glass, all viole(n)t, enhancing the gloom. Dark flowers, all withered, fragile and old, yet, their perfume still lingers like a secret untold. Like a dream, or a memory that floats in this vault, waiting for the moment it shall be recalled by some visitor, maybe, who is seeking release from a strange kind of sadness, some unknown disease. Its symptoms are madness, caused by the music in his head, sung by an endless choir, called:
"the Voices of the Dead".
It's his longing for silence, for the absence of sound, that will lead him the hidden path below the ground. Where he shall discover, though terror and fear, behind black iron doors .... something is sleeping here: a little dead baby, a young boy lies kept, as fragile and frightened, crippled and sad...

Tongue of silence, lick my lips,
steal my thoughts, steal my pride.
My soul lies offered as I'm waiting,
intoxicate me when you step inside...
Hold my hands, my hands are trembling,
your charming beauty takes my breath,
fragrant perfumes veil my senses,
hold my hands sweet tormentress.

Thoughts are spinning their inescapable threads
transforming us cruelly into marionettes.
Everything I feel is pain
and the Devil holds us in his hands.
Buried desperately in my chest
a rose for myself and a rose for the dead.
A serenade of tears, lifelessly
we feel the beat, though no orchestra is there to be seen...

(the mirror ... is the theatre ... where the autopsy ... begins)
please, be so kind to leave this place,
none of your kin(d) is wanted here;
a dreadful tremor shakes these walls ...
your presence vibrates violently.

over many years we've built the utmost fragile atmosphere,
we cant allow the uninvited visitor(s) to interfere.

Today they've found another one,
Lifeless on the cold subway-floor.
His face was turned to his back ... -
The same way the other died before.
Drain the mortals to their last convulsion
and veil the ancient cause,
Let off ... of them ... and see them tumble,
Let off and enjoy their fall!

There is an old goat
Knocking at my window-pane,
Standing upright in a frock-coat,
Somewhat earthcoloured and plain.

He is staring down at me
And the place where I have chosen to hide
In my futile attempt to dissolve... -

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Alles ist nur Illusion und von mir erschaffen,
Doch ich vermag ihr nicht zu entflieh'n,
Bin in meinem eigenen Trugbild gefangen,
Und meine armen Augen erkennen kein Ziel.
Die Antwort kann niemals im Aussen sein,
Sie liegt stets im Innern, schl¤ft tief in mir drin,
Doch welches Auge schaut hinein,
Ich brauche ein neues Auge,

Простые радости девичества
(Перевод by Freitod)

Там, где открывается чёрная дверь,
Он проводит тщательное изучение, двигаясь взглядом по часовой стрелке,
Исключая третью и вторую, он делает вывод,
Что это – чуть выше первой степени.

Will I become like the old man from next door?

Obsessed with the fear of losing his mind,
he soon couldn't take care of himself anymore.
He had no friends or relatives to look after him,
only once a week some male nurse dropped in.

He was found in this bed, dehydrated...-

("Sleeper" by Edgar Allan Poe)

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,

Panda-ghost-face
Oh, dear me I do still ponder on
The old "first question" I ever raised
Was by mistake, a "singular" one.

Handsome and straight
I only detect the safety of denial
The "masculinear", slap in the face

There was a country by the sea, but I cannot say for certain, whether it was part of a lonely isle, or merely some coastal region.
A landing-stage of rotten blanks stretched carefully into the waves, and for one moment I did wonder, what frightening purpose it might serve.
O, heavy, roaring, endless seas, what secrets does this rage entomb? Have ancient memories or hungry ghosts, gathered all their strength, to call for this storm?
Deep-seated gardens, almost a labyrinth, walled in by ruins and rocks ivy-clad, perhaps this strange place had once been a palace, where now viole(n)t bushes bear dark thorns instead.
A young boy was taking me by the hand and unerringly he was leading me down below the gardens, which I hardly remembered, the moment I took the first step underground.
We came to a room with only small windows, and to my suprise I could somehow still hear, though reduced to a murmur, now chant-like and humming, to once savage voice of the roaring sea.
The boy has built a catacomb, he is living in a tomb, below the ground, where there's no sound, he is hiding, from the world.
Something resembling an altar was built there, a secret overshadowed structure and use, underneath, in inanimate self-contemplation, lay a jet-black mass of coal-like granules.

Этот холм поднимается вверх,
А другие превращаются в равнину.
Время вновь определяет себя
И тонет в печали капля за каплей...

"Время лечит", -
Кажется, так двуличное эхо сказало.
Но ничто, ничто не меняется,

Было время, когда покорение боли было единственным,
На что я мог надеяться, было единственной моей целью.
Счастье или радость - просто бессмысленные "не-слова",
В любом случае, они были нежеланны,
Поскольку определенно были неуместны.
Всё, чего я хотел, это заглушить голоса,
Остаться на краткий миг в темноте, одиночестве и холоде.
Как я желаю, чтобы мой разум,

Безмолвно капля за каплей сочится холод, -
Я тону в себе самом.
Мои надежды оставляют меня одиноким и бесплодным,
Моя могила - единственно любимое обиталище.
Я ненавижу собственный отвратительный запах,
Эту вонь застарелого и злостного страха.
Как же я ненавижу каждую смертную клеточку, гниющую внутри меня!

.Определенно уже тысячу лет
На холодном берегу моря;
Ах, скажи, мое дитя, ты знаешь сон:
Который уже столько длится?
Как и ты, мы также побиты
И о смерти мы мечтаем.
Ты знаешь, это не на самом деле мертво,
То, что вечно лежит там, внизу,

When the old ghost of suicide
Creeps slowly back into your mind,
Then everything is bleak and blurred,
Down here in the short-sighted world.
Yet, this time I have to insist
On the sharpness of the things I missed...
This once so loyal friend, he's not that welcome anymore.

I wish that he and I at least once in a While
had something small in common ...- a secret, if you like.
But there's no common ground here, not a single thing we share,
on the same Planet we live, but in two different Worlds.

He clearly did not like me,
that part was plain to see,
the very moment that he laid his grey Eyes on me,

o! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Do you feel - most people do - depressed, when you go to the lou?
That's just because it reminds you of the love you've lost.
Well, if you're fed up being sad, come, try a new approach instead:
There's a fountain made of gold, a gift straight from the underworld ...
Once you've washed your face in piss, you'll realise its sacred bliss.
You'll never waste that precious gold ...-
open your hands ... and make a bowl!!!
Es ist ein magisch' Elexier, und es heißt "Urin",

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.