Disposable Hero
Registrierter Benutzer
So! Nachdem ich in letzter Zeit ab und zu immer mal wieder am rumkritteln an den Texten anderer bin, hab ich mir gedacht ich könnte auch mal wieder was hier reinstellen und mir ein paar Meinungen anhören.
Musikalisch könnt ihr euch das in etwa folgendermaßen vorstellen:
Akkustische, größtenteils gepickte Gitarre, ziemlich düstere, traurige Atmosphäre, dazu eher heller, nicht allzu Frauengesang.
Naja ich finds schön.
Dead Paradise
Golden lights descending
Through the fading summer air,
Through the evenings soft despair,
Into a pool of grey asphalt.
Weak reflections are ascending
Through the waiting call of dusk,
Through the weeping beautys mask
Into the infernal furnace.
God, the artist, painter, nothing,
Drawing shades of ancient splendour,
Blazing all mourning in the streets,
Claiming his deceitful existence.
Mind, the inventor, master, all,
Soaking in the milky blue-sky -
Greedily assimilating illusion,
Coughing out the vacant words.
Crimson lights ascending
Through the surreal summer silence,
Through the non- existent guidance
Into the realm of heaven.
Into the realm of god we stride,
Golden substance lights the path
Still craving for the other side,
Fear of death nourishes our wrath.
To Eden we faithfully direct our pace,
Traversing the enlightened moors,
Till crumbling cities hide their face
Beneath pilgrims march, our final cure.
Uncertain thoughts are descending
Through the suns weakening glance,
Through the feverish melting trance
Into the ruins of our paradise.
Lie, the artist, divinity, all,
Showing horrid scenes of light,
Leaving grotesque two- faced smiles
Hollowing out the vacant words.
And as the sun is freezing high above,
Were screaming for our promised love,
While we do spot our last demise,
We that killed our only paradise.
Thy truth doth hurt, oh frozen sun,
Heaven is, was, will be, for none
Musikalisch könnt ihr euch das in etwa folgendermaßen vorstellen:
Akkustische, größtenteils gepickte Gitarre, ziemlich düstere, traurige Atmosphäre, dazu eher heller, nicht allzu Frauengesang.
Naja ich finds schön.
Dead Paradise
Golden lights descending
Through the fading summer air,
Through the evenings soft despair,
Into a pool of grey asphalt.
Weak reflections are ascending
Through the waiting call of dusk,
Through the weeping beautys mask
Into the infernal furnace.
God, the artist, painter, nothing,
Drawing shades of ancient splendour,
Blazing all mourning in the streets,
Claiming his deceitful existence.
Mind, the inventor, master, all,
Soaking in the milky blue-sky -
Greedily assimilating illusion,
Coughing out the vacant words.
Crimson lights ascending
Through the surreal summer silence,
Through the non- existent guidance
Into the realm of heaven.
Into the realm of god we stride,
Golden substance lights the path
Still craving for the other side,
Fear of death nourishes our wrath.
To Eden we faithfully direct our pace,
Traversing the enlightened moors,
Till crumbling cities hide their face
Beneath pilgrims march, our final cure.
Uncertain thoughts are descending
Through the suns weakening glance,
Through the feverish melting trance
Into the ruins of our paradise.
Lie, the artist, divinity, all,
Showing horrid scenes of light,
Leaving grotesque two- faced smiles
Hollowing out the vacant words.
And as the sun is freezing high above,
Were screaming for our promised love,
While we do spot our last demise,
We that killed our only paradise.
Thy truth doth hurt, oh frozen sun,
Heaven is, was, will be, for none
- Eigenschaft