LOADING DATA
Kathaarsys
Members | |
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Current | |
Marta Barcia | Piano, Bass (2005-present) |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars (2002-present) |
Past | |
Dani "Pillao" | Bass |
Aboriorth | Drums |
Member(bands): Nocturnal Hell, Aboriorth, Heilnoz, Xerión, The Last Twilight | |
R. Garabal | Drums |
J. A. Ventín | Guitars |
Member(bands): Aboriorth (live) | |
I. Capelo | Guitars |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars (2005-2007) |
Member(bands): Distilling Pain | |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums (2006-2011) |
Member(bands): Fallen Sentinel, Morte |
# | Discography | Type | Year | |
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1 | Portrait of Wind and Sorrow | Full-length | 2005 | Show album |
2 | ...and All My Existence in Vain | Single | 2007 | Show album |
3 | Verses in Vain | Full-length | 2007 | Show album |
4 | Anonymous Ballad | Full-length | 2009 | Show album |
5 | Intuition | Full-length | 2010 | Show album |
6 | The Concept - Live at Capitol | Video | 2011 | Show album |
7 | Rara Vez | Full-length | 2012 | Show album |
8 | Describing the Paradox Vol.I | Full-length | 2014 | Show album |
9 | Describing the Paradox Vol. II | Full-length | 2017 | Show album |
Portrait of Wind and Sorrow
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
---|---|---|---|---|
April 15th, 2005 | Independent | CD | ||
2006 | Concreto Records | CDCR15 | CD | |
2011 | Silent Tree Productions | CD | Splendor Lux Box | |
2015 | Independent | Digital |
Members | |
---|---|
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Aboriorth | Drums |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Perennial Forest of Winter | 11:09 | Show lyrics |
I feel cold near to bleeding mirror of winter The evening rain has turned our land in death The vastness of deep forest knows the nectar ethereal of human course One of the many faces of the god Pan is the rotten water in my hands She has the essence of wolf in the eye of hunter The autumn hides the lost spring in the wintry storm And the birthplace of knowledge over the flock of ravens The messiah watches me and watches firmly the abyss We have known the limits of the iced earth To know the garden of the trees high we need the affinity leper of time Today appears the shadow discreet of death Amongst the mountains, the silhouette of the clarity I lose the feel of being soul and the taste sour of my arms amongst the hay That which once we recall has lost in the perennial, empty of the spring I feel the coldness of the storm and the pain of harvest in my steps Orion watches us from the sentinels of suffering |
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2. | Gnostic Seasons | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
In the swamp shaded of the black wizard ends the gnostic dance of the seasons, breathes the memorial to the past with the ancestral mist of the abyss The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm Through the nostalgic call of tragedy defines the cosmic key of the black sanctuary And with the mystic sound of the dark time... Beyond the affinity morbid of the hate contructes the ochre in the oniric embrace of fear I have arrived here to revere our deads And meanwhile I watch the black tree the grief of winter remains The fury of ours battles startled the twilight when our blood ran pure by the brooks of the gloominess And I await the rain now The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress In the glades of the forest we watch the expressiveness of death and nothing make to foresee the storm Upon the silent water shatters the twilight cerulean of the firmament The rage whereupon were written this words leaves no place to the wretchedness The tragedy knows this lands The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm |
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3. | Epic Pagan Times | 10:29 | Show lyrics |
The return of the wintry dream is the tree wich the forest hide but the valley is dark and it reborns in thousands falls When the circle was mine the spring faded in my name Someone will try to explain you this but you won´t understand nothing A burrow isn´t more than a link with the greyish elegy of the wetlands isn´t more than the absence of light in the eyes whom we leave back In my immortal kingdom cold the storm will guide ours battles towards the abyss The blood of our tragic memories will brand a dark passage of sorrow in the stony memorial of the shelvings The black swamp that watches my death symbolizes our past The lie summarizes my existence but not my kingdom Now the last moon of October project her rage in our arms From the deepest of my grave the cruelty of the perpetual winter in the density of the forest Nobody will hear never the agonized melody of the river near the forgotten willow Untill the end of our age Epic Pagan Times The fury of the oceans will go over the path of the ancients bards |
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4. | Portrait of Wind and Sorrow | 10:18 | Show lyrics |
I cross over the description of misery and I don´t need to say no more I found the beginning of the path while in the edge distant of the night emerged the wintry whisper of sorrow I go to the north searching for the thickness of the ocean icy of death I have walked towards the inscrutable shadows of the black wizard and I have only known the bitter taste of agony The depth of the abyss has left me finding out, destined for seek answers, in the vast harvest of sadness In the boundaries of the black cold stormy the machines of the dawn have created the dismal melody of the rain The representation of blood flows towards the mountains The wind crosses the unarmed face of the dark ground While we hollow out in the human grief the mystic aura of the dead river involve us The presence be done tactile The spectre recognizes our spirit and the rotten sap of the doubt In a unknown place they sacrificed the threshold in the name of time near the lonely wolf Through the suffering hear the howl of the death in the bowels of the forest The wickedness appears amongst the eternals The flesh dwell in the eye of the black twilight And the path leads to the tree Under the moon I have verified the vastness of the firmament and the humbleness of our empire The way seemed ephemeral then like now From the shelter of the white poplar we hear the dreadful scream of who don´t thinks in the empty of life but in the empty of death The spring has lost I go to the cold for watch the mountains of the past Near to the runnig waters I take off my spirit and I walk |
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5. | Walk the Mist in the Lack | 11:41 | Show lyrics |
The brazen light bleeds in the black pitch of memory The cold tear the loneliness of the ocean Through the petals threaten the nocturnal breath of forest The rain listen to the spirit of the mist and mechanices the bitter sensation of the winter The wind naked Once we find the keys to decipher the river but that is not easy I still awaiting the morning full of absence I still screaming in the night near to the border of the past and I don´t have nothing to lose From this lands I gaze at the distance of the empty vastness of the storm and the scream of silent hawks smell as the death amongst the black flowers of cold I lie here near the indifference emotive of the turbid water The morning fog talk in my name In the name of the time I invoke the nightspirit and under the sign of the forest appear my enigmatic steps Nothing can save me from the ancient failure even from wet dream of the night dew I have found all secrets that the ocean could offer me between my hands I lost the nectar of spring and the answer of the unknown tree |
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6. | Nectar in the Nocturnal River | 12:02 | Show lyrics |
Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence The ruins of this valley without colour and timeless I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river near to my soul Watch the eternity drags the abyss among the shadows of an enigmatic awakening And the vision of the silent tree covers the snow When the running waters scorn the whisper of the wrath in the elapse of the swamp the Spirit goes over the sorrow The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning The symbolism left in the certainties little more of what I see in this bogs The raw winter left death´s smell in the thickness of misery The things take me to the immensity and the immensity take me to the another things The gloomy melody of the trees knows that the blaze of wind dies in every rainy morning of autumn in the threshold of the night, the tree all the sadness of winter and life shut herself in the mystery of this everlasting rainless The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence |
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01:05:31 |
...and All My Existence in Vain
Members | |
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J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
R. Garabal | Drums |
Tracks | |||
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1. | And All My Existence in Vain | 16:21 | Show lyrics |
And all my existence in vain This one is the half-light in which you have died, from the abyss you constructed, the everlasting penury Your that, always you were regretting about, read credit agonizing of the maple on the deprived fog Close to this rotten oak the temple is watched to the suffering The moribund lines fall apart in your hands on water the ancient shade is reflected and in the depth of the forest the existence hides itself On the dawn the hills of the suffering flow and your steps sound emptiness You listen the music of the rot, the brooks of the existence are poisoned the melancholy transition of the crops is observed from this hill, there is listened the existence and the vagueness of life And there remains the feeling of the disenchantment, spirit of the pain buried in discouragement the rain dies in the outside, sound of the loneliness… know where these thoughts lead, cross the paths of the unknown but the infinity does not serve as refuge Agonizing ocean of the spirituality, in the deepest of the infinity You observe the beauty of the gravely injured cedar, the immense weight of the death, valley of the ruin and materializes the banality of the human thought The dreams of the past are diluted in the ashes bloodstained of a solitary oak You come to this land across the suffering close to the high trees of the forgotten mountain The lineage of the dismembered trees makes its way and searches in the forest in the forest’s doubt The bitter farewell of the rain The blind sadness in the lost path The cold dead age assembles the meaning of my life and of my death The lineage of the dismembered trees makes its way and searches in the forest’s doubt Agonizing voice of the forgotten paradise Former stagnant dreams blind Magician of the secret places crazy hollow and absence |
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16:21 |
Verses in Vain
Members | |
---|---|
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass, Piano |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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Disc 1 - Act I | |||
1. | Doomed in the Black Abyss | 19:52 | Show lyrics |
He talks Lost in the black abyss And all my existence in vain... The revenge of the old spirit will never arrive The dawn leaves pieces of rotteness In the everlasting misery I know the meaning (The rain still remain) Through the insane gap Extends the thought and the death And I fell the frost melancholy of the wind We walk towards the cold We observed the lost passing And the eternal pain of dusk I’m sorry, I don’t try to say anything The unravelled majesty Mysticism in the dead forest The pain reflected in the eternal river of suffering We can verify it The sadness drew up its footpaths Towards the abyss Towards some unknown place Nobody can save me I have exhausted the fragility that surrounded my steps But I had not deciphered the masterful enigma The spirit wolf rambles solitary at the mountains During a moment I watched fixedly in this saddened sea And I underwent the fear of existence The melodies sound confuse In the ethereal infinity of wind And the land is drained in my hands I lost the hope in the days While a milliard of twilights speak The pain, the measurement of existence Breaks every day eternal hedonism The inert artifice of the hope Senseless hangman, willow of the rot Here is the landscape Here is the suffering When the bitter morning comes Forged in fire and evil arts Nothing yet will make sense When the bitter morning comes Like in my dreams Like vain in verse Here is the landscape Here is the suffering I don’t want that understand nothing The bitter farewell of the rain Collects the meaning of my life and of my death Wouldn’t understand an agony Provoked by so real dreams Wouldn’t decipher illusions Neither in flights nor patronages Like verses in vain Wouldn’t see that the life is false Neither the ochre colour of the Sun I for an alone moment you were crossing the opium door Would come to the threshold of the suffering But not... I know well what I’m talking, I have come to say goodbye |
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2. | And All My Existence in Vain... | 16:21 | Show lyrics |
And all my existence in vain This one is the half-light in which you have died, from the abyss you constructed, the everlasting penury Your that, always you were regretting about Read credit agonizing of the maple On the deprived fog Close to this rotten oak the temple is watched to the suffering The moribund lines fall apart in your hands on water the ancient shade is reflected and in the depth of the forest the existence hides itself On the dawn the hills of the suffering flow and your steps sound emptiness You listen the music of the rot, the brooks of the existence are poisoned the melancholy transition of the crops is observed from this hill there is listened the existence and the vagueness of life And there remains the feeling of the disenchantment, spirit of the pain buried in discouragement the rain dies in the outside, sound of the loneliness… know where these thoughts lead, cross the paths of the unknown but the infinity does not serve as refuge Agonizing ocean of the spirituality, in the deepest of the infinity You observe the beauty of the gravely injured cedar, the immense weight of the death, valley of the ruin and materializes the banality of the human thought The dreams of the past are diluted in the ashes bloodstained of a solitary oak You come to this land across the suffering close to the high trees of the forgotten mountain The lineage of the dismembered trees makes its way and searches in the forest in the forest’s doubt The bitter farewell of the rain The blind sadness in the lost path The cold dead age assembles the meaning of my life and of my death The lineage of the dismembered trees makes its way and searches in the forest’s doubt Agonizing voice of the forgotten paradise Former stagnant dreams blind Magician of the secret places crazy hollow and absence |
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3. | The Revenge of the Old Spirit Will Never Arrive | 13:17 | |
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49:30 | |||
Disc 2 - Act II | |||
1. | The Dawn Leaves Pieces of Rotteness | 15:46 | |
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2. | In the Everlasting Misery | 20:22 | |
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36:08 |
Anonymous Ballad
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
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March 15th, 2009 | Silent Tree Productions | STP 11-0017 | CD | |
2009 | Concreto Records | CDCR34 | CD |
Members | |
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Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums |
Miscellaneous staff | |
Kris Verwimp | Artwork |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Part One - Thoughts About Worthless Things and the Future [8 Brief Notes in the University Square] | 06:05 | Show lyrics |
Awakens interest and expires clumsily amid grins A certain poetry peeps through the ignorance of the death rattle Elusive immensity in the distance Shouting high plateau in the solitude The groan is wounded and there is a certain resemblance Today’s missed stupidity, tomorrow outlined ideas... The dogged protractedness of the epoch About an incomplete statistic Paragraphs of notoriety are written And fed on scoop The morality of the ambiguous is reflected Resemblance of death So to say, the perfect contradiction of oneself |
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2. | Part Two - Sadness and Hopelessness [Conversations in the Lobby] | 05:37 | Show lyrics |
When I was young, the irony was grasped Things were so for a reason And for a reason were those illusions fake Even today a certain distant resemblance is to be seen Facing the undaunted corpse of childhood We’ve made it here for something that doesn’t reveal the slightest dreamy hint |
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3. | Part Three - The Advent of Madness [Lucubrations from the Nightmare of July 8th] | 05:04 | Show lyrics |
Keeping it real , the farmer keeps ploughing the same field There was a day when things made sense In that very moment, the night recalled an evoking dusk But it’s not worth too much remembrance Not now or ever, will it make sense Now, my dear friend, you are alone And there’s no way back, and no tales on the road The advent of madness or the foe’s rejection |
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4. | Part Four - No Guide [22:30 (End of the Day): Solitude and Weariness and... Solitude, After All] | 13:49 | Show lyrics |
Hollow words What were you expecting? You now have the gift of mediocrity Rotten clock of immensurable lost hours |
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5. | Part Five - Darkness [Last Tests, Conclusion and the Obscurity at the End of the Tunnel] | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
The jadedness of an epoch The sorrow of the wounded fisherman The darkness For a moment you feel creative And you expire… |
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40:27 |
Intuition
Members | |
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J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Preconsciencia, Ciclo Iniciático Vital | 02:09 | |
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2. | Consciencia, Duda-Apatía-Duda-Depresión | 02:34 | |
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3. | Pesadelo, Transición-Evolución-Constatación Reiterada | 05:24 | |
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4. | Parálise, Fases Esquizoides, Locura Psicotrópica Autoinducida | 04:57 | |
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5. | Extraño e Contradictorio Intervalo de Lucidez | 04:57 | |
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6. | Ledicia e Inadaptación, Pensamento Fantasioso e Incompatibilidade | 05:50 | |
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7. | Caos, Colisión coa Realidade | 03:19 | |
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8. | Fugaz Esperanza | 01:47 | |
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9. | Recapitulación da Dúbida, Incomodidade, Incomunicación e Confusión | 06:01 | |
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10. | Tristeza, Fracaso, Dolce Tolemia e Final | 07:06 | |
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11. | Atávico | 01:33 | |
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45:37 |
The Concept - Live at Capitol
Members | |
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J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass, Keyboard |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Thoughts About Worthless Things and the Future | ||
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2. | Sadness and Hopelessness | ||
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3. | Piano Interlude | ||
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4. | Primera Intuición | ||
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5. | No Guide | ||
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6. | Segunda Intuición | ||
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7. | Darkness | ||
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Rara Vez
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
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April 9th, 2012 | Silent Tree Productions | CD | Special Artisan Edition | |
April 9th, 2012 | Silent Tree Productions | Digital |
Members | |
---|---|
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Piano |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Manipulación | 08:33 | instrumental |
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2. | Traxedia Española | 09:47 | Show lyrics |
¡Ai de vos! Ánimas sen ceo Aliada co tempo ficou a ideoloxía da morte e a hipocrisía ¿Quén vos lembra? ¡Ai de vos! Ánimas sen terra |
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3. | Crítica da Estupidez Pura | 04:29 | instrumental |
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4. | Retorno á Idade Media | 10:06 | instrumental |
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5. | A Involución das Masas | 07:09 | Show lyrics |
È a habitacion do fastìo, pois non se pode sentir outra cousa sen deixar de ser humano. È a falsa sensaciòn de comodidade, è a limpeza asèptica sen paixòn, è o sorriso cristalino sen transparencia. È a publicidade anoxante, bastarda, insulsa, asfixiante, moralizante sen sentenza, pìa sen piedade, è unha enumeraciòn interminable de palabras, de slogans, de frases feitas, ben feitas. È a hipocrisia si, pero no hai nada màis real aquì dentro. È un excelente comezo. O rapaz de terceira fila ten na sùa cabeza unha idea excelente para un relato, o seu primeiro relato. Fai falta ter unha localizaciòn que non dea moitos problemas pero que inspire, que dea pè a unhas personaxes tipo a desenrolar historias interesantes, divertidas para o lecotr, cun comezo àxil, unha trama non moi complicada e un final chocante, inesperado. Non viste con personalidade, non hai nada que o faga ùnico a simple vista. Un dato, un aceso de loucura debidamente tratada, un novo sorriso (eficaz!) Dende o maìs profundo da immundicia, radiante no seu esplendor, xorde unha chiscada de ollo. Cabello louro (real!). A complicidade non se comparte con xentalla, complicidade busca ao superiore e amòsase elocuente para o observador, principalmente cando ninguèn observa. A complicidade vai acompañada dun aparato de comunicaciòn. È imposible escoitala, principalmente cando ninguèn observa. Decidèse a conversiòn dunha alma nunha estatìstica màis, motu proprio. Non è que non haxa remorso, non hai nada. O vello de segunda fila tose. Terà cancro ou un insignificante constipado mal curado? Porque deberia importarnos? A estatìstica exclùeo nunha marxe de beneficios lòxica (ascendente!), unha mulleriña tipo amàrrao con forza pre vendo unha hipotètica caìda. Non acontecerà nada no resto do dìa. Risadas, na habitaciòn escoitamos risadas pouco convencionais, como rin os parvos nunha situaciòn intelixente. O home da primeira fila non està de pè, està totalmente seguro dos seus pasos e comunìcase a travès dun aparello. A caracterizaciòn da habitaciòn e a sùa funcion concreta reprime calquera conversa honesta, agàs a travès dun aparello. Estamos no Nadal. A conversa, o conversante, a situaciòn, a proxecciòn pasada e futura do acontecer anòdino non estimula pensamentos axeitados à efemèride. Què poden importar os detalles (erro!). Fòra de filera algunha. Apartado. Indumentaria pouco axeitada para a situacion, no paìs dos tortos o cego non vale nada. O aparello de comunicaciòn està apagado, dende un àngulo mestre o superior observa con faciana totalmente inexpresiva, pero està sorrindo. Nesta situaciòn os catro ollos teñen un baleiro, o mesmo para a vìtima e para o verdugo porque mañà non haberà vitima ou verdugo…non haberà mañà. Dalgùn xeito, àmbolos dous o saben. Chega alguèn, acumùlase o fastìo. Tal vez cinco personalidades diferentes para tres fileiras iguais. Anquilòsase o mecanismo no interior dos mecànicos. Todos sorrìn. Algo aconteceu na habitaciòn mentres o son tàcito dos aparellos enmudeceu a mùsica vital de cotianidade. Nalgùn momento se perdeu algo no que non cabe a posibilidade de reflexionar, sinxelamente non se pode. Neste baseamento foi edificada a habitaciòn, non sabemos se algo maìs, pois non sabemos nada do exterior. È certo que sabemos algo acerca do interior, pero non sabemos se è certo. O rapaz de terceira fila comeza a desasosegarse, hai personaxes tipo pero non hai historia. Isto è un feito. A habitaciòn è mais pequena agora, a publicidade multiplìcase e un acaba por renderse a lectura de calquera cousa, o que sexa. O control xorde dun descontrol e viceversa. A localizaciòn non ispira. De novo un aparello, a comunicaciòn basease nun aparello e tamèn a orde, determinata, na que se clasifican as tipificaciòns no interior de habitaciòn. Non hai obxectivo, descoñecemos sequera se existe algo maìs que a habitaciòn. Sospeitàmolo. O vello da segunda fila avanza agora. Non existe comunicaciòn posible, non hai aparello, pero isto non evita a conversa fluida, azucrada, xovial, agradable, humana e inerte. Non hai nada de que falar. Risadas, sempre risadas, sempre aparellos adornando o Nadal con musicas e lucerìas. A seguridade do aparello aporta auto confianza, asoballamento implìcito na intenciòn. Explicitase na indiferenza ao apartar a sagrada orde de quenda e condenar ao apartado à soidade pùblica do non cumprimento das expectativas. Aquel home que estivera sentado (exultante!) levantouse e aquel que estivera de pè (decepcionante!) non fixo nada para defender o seu imperio de area no deserto. O superior observouno e o sorriso, eterno sorriso, virou en gargallada, sonora. Retumbou na habitaciòn. As ondas sonoras viaxaron en fracciòns de segundo dun lado ao outro do universo omnìmodo da realidade (unica!). As personaxes tremeron, non podemos saber porque, non interesa. Sò. Aquel que estivera de pè caeu sen màis. Meteu as mans nos bolsos forzando unha posiciòn fetal, apertando os brazos contra o corpo e os nocellos contra o pescozo (despreciable!). Sorrisos no silencio e despois, vergoña. O feito en si da desapariciòn dunha personaxe non implica nada na habitaciòn como non significou a apariciòn recente. A habitaciòn segue igual e todos esqueceron o que non interesaba, esqueceron tamèn o desprezàble, esqueceron o decepcionante, nun esforzo exultante, erròneo pero ascendente, real, e eficaz. Publicidade, pura publicidade. Repentinamente todos saen da habitaciòn, descoñecemos se habìa porta sequera. Todos saen, non sabemos porquè. Tal vez a habitaciòn desaparece, como podemos sabelo? Como continuar fabulando de algo que non existe? Non complicariamos acaso a trama? Innecesario. A parodia duns è o dìa a dìa doutros. A parodia da parodia debe ser inerte. |
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40:04 |
Describing the Paradox Vol.I
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
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December 11th, 2014 | Silent Tree Productions | Digital | ||
December 11th, 2014 | Silent Tree Productions | STP 11.00.25 | CD |
Members | |
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J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Overture | 08:24 | instrumental |
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2. | Unscrutable Truth | 10:28 | |
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3. | Describing the Paradox | 07:09 | |
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4. | Inerte | 09:00 | |
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35:01 |
Describing the Paradox Vol. II
Tracks | |||
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1. | Continuum | 09:05 | |
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2. | Segredo Inefable | 07:47 | |
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3. | De Filii Europae Tribulatione | 16:48 | |
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4. | Cantiga Ausente | 06:28 | |
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40:08 |
Portrait of Wind and Sorrow
Members | |
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J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Aboriorth | Drums |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Perennial Forest of Winter | 11:09 | Show lyrics |
I feel cold near to bleeding mirror of winter The evening rain has turned our land in death The vastness of deep forest knows the nectar ethereal of human course One of the many faces of the god Pan is the rotten water in my hands She has the essence of wolf in the eye of hunter The autumn hides the lost spring in the wintry storm And the birthplace of knowledge over the flock of ravens The messiah watches me and watches firmly the abyss We have known the limits of the iced earth To know the garden of the trees high we need the affinity leper of time Today appears the shadow discreet of death Amongst the mountains, the silhouette of the clarity I lose the feel of being soul and the taste sour of my arms amongst the hay That which once we recall has lost in the perennial, empty of the spring I feel the coldness of the storm and the pain of harvest in my steps Orion watches us from the sentinels of suffering |
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2. | Gnostic Seasons | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
In the swamp shaded of the black wizard ends the gnostic dance of the seasons, breathes the memorial to the past with the ancestral mist of the abyss The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm Through the nostalgic call of tragedy defines the cosmic key of the black sanctuary And with the mystic sound of the dark time... Beyond the affinity morbid of the hate contructes the ochre in the oniric embrace of fear I have arrived here to revere our deads And meanwhile I watch the black tree the grief of winter remains The fury of ours battles startled the twilight when our blood ran pure by the brooks of the gloominess And I await the rain now The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress In the glades of the forest we watch the expressiveness of death and nothing make to foresee the storm Upon the silent water shatters the twilight cerulean of the firmament The rage whereupon were written this words leaves no place to the wretchedness The tragedy knows this lands The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm |
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3. | Epic Pagan Times | 10:29 | Show lyrics |
The return of the wintry dream is the tree wich the forest hide but the valley is dark and it reborns in thousands falls When the circle was mine the spring faded in my name Someone will try to explain you this but you won´t understand nothing A burrow isn´t more than a link with the greyish elegy of the wetlands isn´t more than the absence of light in the eyes whom we leave back In my immortal kingdom cold the storm will guide ours battles towards the abyss The blood of our tragic memories will brand a dark passage of sorrow in the stony memorial of the shelvings The black swamp that watches my death symbolizes our past The lie summarizes my existence but not my kingdom Now the last moon of October project her rage in our arms From the deepest of my grave the cruelty of the perpetual winter in the density of the forest Nobody will hear never the agonized melody of the river near the forgotten willow Untill the end of our age Epic Pagan Times The fury of the oceans will go over the path of the ancients bards |
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4. | Portrait of Wind and Sorrow | 10:18 | Show lyrics |
I cross over the description of misery and I don´t need to say no more I found the beginning of the path while in the edge distant of the night emerged the wintry whisper of sorrow I go to the north searching for the thickness of the ocean icy of death I have walked towards the inscrutable shadows of the black wizard and I have only known the bitter taste of agony The depth of the abyss has left me finding out, destined for seek answers, in the vast harvest of sadness In the boundaries of the black cold stormy the machines of the dawn have created the dismal melody of the rain The representation of blood flows towards the mountains The wind crosses the unarmed face of the dark ground While we hollow out in the human grief the mystic aura of the dead river involve us The presence be done tactile The spectre recognizes our spirit and the rotten sap of the doubt In a unknown place they sacrificed the threshold in the name of time near the lonely wolf Through the suffering hear the howl of the death in the bowels of the forest The wickedness appears amongst the eternals The flesh dwell in the eye of the black twilight And the path leads to the tree Under the moon I have verified the vastness of the firmament and the humbleness of our empire The way seemed ephemeral then like now From the shelter of the white poplar we hear the dreadful scream of who don´t thinks in the empty of life but in the empty of death The spring has lost I go to the cold for watch the mountains of the past Near to the runnig waters I take off my spirit and I walk |
|||
5. | Walk the Mist in the Lack | 11:41 | Show lyrics |
The brazen light bleeds in the black pitch of memory The cold tear the loneliness of the ocean Through the petals threaten the nocturnal breath of forest The rain listen to the spirit of the mist and mechanices the bitter sensation of the winter The wind naked Once we find the keys to decipher the river but that is not easy I still awaiting the morning full of absence I still screaming in the night near to the border of the past and I don´t have nothing to lose From this lands I gaze at the distance of the empty vastness of the storm and the scream of silent hawks smell as the death amongst the black flowers of cold I lie here near the indifference emotive of the turbid water The morning fog talk in my name In the name of the time I invoke the nightspirit and under the sign of the forest appear my enigmatic steps Nothing can save me from the ancient failure even from wet dream of the night dew I have found all secrets that the ocean could offer me between my hands I lost the nectar of spring and the answer of the unknown tree |
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6. | Nectar in the Nocturnal River | 12:02 | Show lyrics |
Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence The ruins of this valley without colour and timeless I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river near to my soul Watch the eternity drags the abyss among the shadows of an enigmatic awakening And the vision of the silent tree covers the snow When the running waters scorn the whisper of the wrath in the elapse of the swamp the Spirit goes over the sorrow The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning The symbolism left in the certainties little more of what I see in this bogs The raw winter left death´s smell in the thickness of misery The things take me to the immensity and the immensity take me to the another things The gloomy melody of the trees knows that the blaze of wind dies in every rainy morning of autumn in the threshold of the night, the tree all the sadness of winter and life shut herself in the mystery of this everlasting rainless The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence |
|||
01:05:31 |
Portrait of Wind and Sorrow
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Aboriorth | Drums |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Perennial Forest of Winter | 11:09 | Show lyrics |
I feel cold near to bleeding mirror of winter The evening rain has turned our land in death The vastness of deep forest knows the nectar ethereal of human course One of the many faces of the god Pan is the rotten water in my hands She has the essence of wolf in the eye of hunter The autumn hides the lost spring in the wintry storm And the birthplace of knowledge over the flock of ravens The messiah watches me and watches firmly the abyss We have known the limits of the iced earth To know the garden of the trees high we need the affinity leper of time Today appears the shadow discreet of death Amongst the mountains, the silhouette of the clarity I lose the feel of being soul and the taste sour of my arms amongst the hay That which once we recall has lost in the perennial, empty of the spring I feel the coldness of the storm and the pain of harvest in my steps Orion watches us from the sentinels of suffering |
|||
2. | Gnostic Seasons | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
In the swamp shaded of the black wizard ends the gnostic dance of the seasons, breathes the memorial to the past with the ancestral mist of the abyss The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm Through the nostalgic call of tragedy defines the cosmic key of the black sanctuary And with the mystic sound of the dark time... Beyond the affinity morbid of the hate contructes the ochre in the oniric embrace of fear I have arrived here to revere our deads And meanwhile I watch the black tree the grief of winter remains The fury of ours battles startled the twilight when our blood ran pure by the brooks of the gloominess And I await the rain now The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress In the glades of the forest we watch the expressiveness of death and nothing make to foresee the storm Upon the silent water shatters the twilight cerulean of the firmament The rage whereupon were written this words leaves no place to the wretchedness The tragedy knows this lands The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm |
|||
3. | Epic Pagan Times | 10:29 | Show lyrics |
The return of the wintry dream is the tree wich the forest hide but the valley is dark and it reborns in thousands falls When the circle was mine the spring faded in my name Someone will try to explain you this but you won´t understand nothing A burrow isn´t more than a link with the greyish elegy of the wetlands isn´t more than the absence of light in the eyes whom we leave back In my immortal kingdom cold the storm will guide ours battles towards the abyss The blood of our tragic memories will brand a dark passage of sorrow in the stony memorial of the shelvings The black swamp that watches my death symbolizes our past The lie summarizes my existence but not my kingdom Now the last moon of October project her rage in our arms From the deepest of my grave the cruelty of the perpetual winter in the density of the forest Nobody will hear never the agonized melody of the river near the forgotten willow Untill the end of our age Epic Pagan Times The fury of the oceans will go over the path of the ancients bards |
|||
4. | Portrait of Wind and Sorrow | 10:18 | Show lyrics |
I cross over the description of misery and I don´t need to say no more I found the beginning of the path while in the edge distant of the night emerged the wintry whisper of sorrow I go to the north searching for the thickness of the ocean icy of death I have walked towards the inscrutable shadows of the black wizard and I have only known the bitter taste of agony The depth of the abyss has left me finding out, destined for seek answers, in the vast harvest of sadness In the boundaries of the black cold stormy the machines of the dawn have created the dismal melody of the rain The representation of blood flows towards the mountains The wind crosses the unarmed face of the dark ground While we hollow out in the human grief the mystic aura of the dead river involve us The presence be done tactile The spectre recognizes our spirit and the rotten sap of the doubt In a unknown place they sacrificed the threshold in the name of time near the lonely wolf Through the suffering hear the howl of the death in the bowels of the forest The wickedness appears amongst the eternals The flesh dwell in the eye of the black twilight And the path leads to the tree Under the moon I have verified the vastness of the firmament and the humbleness of our empire The way seemed ephemeral then like now From the shelter of the white poplar we hear the dreadful scream of who don´t thinks in the empty of life but in the empty of death The spring has lost I go to the cold for watch the mountains of the past Near to the runnig waters I take off my spirit and I walk |
|||
5. | Walk the Mist in the Lack | 11:41 | Show lyrics |
The brazen light bleeds in the black pitch of memory The cold tear the loneliness of the ocean Through the petals threaten the nocturnal breath of forest The rain listen to the spirit of the mist and mechanices the bitter sensation of the winter The wind naked Once we find the keys to decipher the river but that is not easy I still awaiting the morning full of absence I still screaming in the night near to the border of the past and I don´t have nothing to lose From this lands I gaze at the distance of the empty vastness of the storm and the scream of silent hawks smell as the death amongst the black flowers of cold I lie here near the indifference emotive of the turbid water The morning fog talk in my name In the name of the time I invoke the nightspirit and under the sign of the forest appear my enigmatic steps Nothing can save me from the ancient failure even from wet dream of the night dew I have found all secrets that the ocean could offer me between my hands I lost the nectar of spring and the answer of the unknown tree |
|||
6. | Nectar in the Nocturnal River | 12:02 | Show lyrics |
Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence The ruins of this valley without colour and timeless I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river near to my soul Watch the eternity drags the abyss among the shadows of an enigmatic awakening And the vision of the silent tree covers the snow When the running waters scorn the whisper of the wrath in the elapse of the swamp the Spirit goes over the sorrow The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning The symbolism left in the certainties little more of what I see in this bogs The raw winter left death´s smell in the thickness of misery The things take me to the immensity and the immensity take me to the another things The gloomy melody of the trees knows that the blaze of wind dies in every rainy morning of autumn in the threshold of the night, the tree all the sadness of winter and life shut herself in the mystery of this everlasting rainless The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence |
|||
01:05:31 |
Portrait of Wind and Sorrow
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Aboriorth | Drums |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Perennial Forest of Winter | 11:09 | Show lyrics |
I feel cold near to bleeding mirror of winter The evening rain has turned our land in death The vastness of deep forest knows the nectar ethereal of human course One of the many faces of the god Pan is the rotten water in my hands She has the essence of wolf in the eye of hunter The autumn hides the lost spring in the wintry storm And the birthplace of knowledge over the flock of ravens The messiah watches me and watches firmly the abyss We have known the limits of the iced earth To know the garden of the trees high we need the affinity leper of time Today appears the shadow discreet of death Amongst the mountains, the silhouette of the clarity I lose the feel of being soul and the taste sour of my arms amongst the hay That which once we recall has lost in the perennial, empty of the spring I feel the coldness of the storm and the pain of harvest in my steps Orion watches us from the sentinels of suffering |
|||
2. | Gnostic Seasons | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
In the swamp shaded of the black wizard ends the gnostic dance of the seasons, breathes the memorial to the past with the ancestral mist of the abyss The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm Through the nostalgic call of tragedy defines the cosmic key of the black sanctuary And with the mystic sound of the dark time... Beyond the affinity morbid of the hate contructes the ochre in the oniric embrace of fear I have arrived here to revere our deads And meanwhile I watch the black tree the grief of winter remains The fury of ours battles startled the twilight when our blood ran pure by the brooks of the gloominess And I await the rain now The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress In the glades of the forest we watch the expressiveness of death and nothing make to foresee the storm Upon the silent water shatters the twilight cerulean of the firmament The rage whereupon were written this words leaves no place to the wretchedness The tragedy knows this lands The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm |
|||
3. | Epic Pagan Times | 10:29 | Show lyrics |
The return of the wintry dream is the tree wich the forest hide but the valley is dark and it reborns in thousands falls When the circle was mine the spring faded in my name Someone will try to explain you this but you won´t understand nothing A burrow isn´t more than a link with the greyish elegy of the wetlands isn´t more than the absence of light in the eyes whom we leave back In my immortal kingdom cold the storm will guide ours battles towards the abyss The blood of our tragic memories will brand a dark passage of sorrow in the stony memorial of the shelvings The black swamp that watches my death symbolizes our past The lie summarizes my existence but not my kingdom Now the last moon of October project her rage in our arms From the deepest of my grave the cruelty of the perpetual winter in the density of the forest Nobody will hear never the agonized melody of the river near the forgotten willow Untill the end of our age Epic Pagan Times The fury of the oceans will go over the path of the ancients bards |
|||
4. | Portrait of Wind and Sorrow | 10:18 | Show lyrics |
I cross over the description of misery and I don´t need to say no more I found the beginning of the path while in the edge distant of the night emerged the wintry whisper of sorrow I go to the north searching for the thickness of the ocean icy of death I have walked towards the inscrutable shadows of the black wizard and I have only known the bitter taste of agony The depth of the abyss has left me finding out, destined for seek answers, in the vast harvest of sadness In the boundaries of the black cold stormy the machines of the dawn have created the dismal melody of the rain The representation of blood flows towards the mountains The wind crosses the unarmed face of the dark ground While we hollow out in the human grief the mystic aura of the dead river involve us The presence be done tactile The spectre recognizes our spirit and the rotten sap of the doubt In a unknown place they sacrificed the threshold in the name of time near the lonely wolf Through the suffering hear the howl of the death in the bowels of the forest The wickedness appears amongst the eternals The flesh dwell in the eye of the black twilight And the path leads to the tree Under the moon I have verified the vastness of the firmament and the humbleness of our empire The way seemed ephemeral then like now From the shelter of the white poplar we hear the dreadful scream of who don´t thinks in the empty of life but in the empty of death The spring has lost I go to the cold for watch the mountains of the past Near to the runnig waters I take off my spirit and I walk |
|||
5. | Walk the Mist in the Lack | 11:41 | Show lyrics |
The brazen light bleeds in the black pitch of memory The cold tear the loneliness of the ocean Through the petals threaten the nocturnal breath of forest The rain listen to the spirit of the mist and mechanices the bitter sensation of the winter The wind naked Once we find the keys to decipher the river but that is not easy I still awaiting the morning full of absence I still screaming in the night near to the border of the past and I don´t have nothing to lose From this lands I gaze at the distance of the empty vastness of the storm and the scream of silent hawks smell as the death amongst the black flowers of cold I lie here near the indifference emotive of the turbid water The morning fog talk in my name In the name of the time I invoke the nightspirit and under the sign of the forest appear my enigmatic steps Nothing can save me from the ancient failure even from wet dream of the night dew I have found all secrets that the ocean could offer me between my hands I lost the nectar of spring and the answer of the unknown tree |
|||
6. | Nectar in the Nocturnal River | 12:02 | Show lyrics |
Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence The ruins of this valley without colour and timeless I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river near to my soul Watch the eternity drags the abyss among the shadows of an enigmatic awakening And the vision of the silent tree covers the snow When the running waters scorn the whisper of the wrath in the elapse of the swamp the Spirit goes over the sorrow The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning The symbolism left in the certainties little more of what I see in this bogs The raw winter left death´s smell in the thickness of misery The things take me to the immensity and the immensity take me to the another things The gloomy melody of the trees knows that the blaze of wind dies in every rainy morning of autumn in the threshold of the night, the tree all the sadness of winter and life shut herself in the mystery of this everlasting rainless The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence |
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7. | Thoughts About Worthless Things And The Future (Part 1) (Live in Santiago de Compostela) | ||
(loading lyrics...) | |||
8. | Thoughts About Worthless Things And The Future (Part 2) (Live in Krakow) | ||
(loading lyrics...) | |||
9. | Sadness And Hopelessness (Live in Krakow) | ||
(loading lyrics...) | |||
01:05:31 |
Portrait of Wind and Sorrow
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Aboriorth | Drums |
Xavi Alonso | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Perennial Forest of Winter | 11:09 | Show lyrics |
I feel cold near to bleeding mirror of winter The evening rain has turned our land in death The vastness of deep forest knows the nectar ethereal of human course One of the many faces of the god Pan is the rotten water in my hands She has the essence of wolf in the eye of hunter The autumn hides the lost spring in the wintry storm And the birthplace of knowledge over the flock of ravens The messiah watches me and watches firmly the abyss We have known the limits of the iced earth To know the garden of the trees high we need the affinity leper of time Today appears the shadow discreet of death Amongst the mountains, the silhouette of the clarity I lose the feel of being soul and the taste sour of my arms amongst the hay That which once we recall has lost in the perennial, empty of the spring I feel the coldness of the storm and the pain of harvest in my steps Orion watches us from the sentinels of suffering |
|||
2. | Gnostic Seasons | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
In the swamp shaded of the black wizard ends the gnostic dance of the seasons, breathes the memorial to the past with the ancestral mist of the abyss The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm Through the nostalgic call of tragedy defines the cosmic key of the black sanctuary And with the mystic sound of the dark time... Beyond the affinity morbid of the hate contructes the ochre in the oniric embrace of fear I have arrived here to revere our deads And meanwhile I watch the black tree the grief of winter remains The fury of ours battles startled the twilight when our blood ran pure by the brooks of the gloominess And I await the rain now The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress In the glades of the forest we watch the expressiveness of death and nothing make to foresee the storm Upon the silent water shatters the twilight cerulean of the firmament The rage whereupon were written this words leaves no place to the wretchedness The tragedy knows this lands The dream is the impervious depth of the forest through the lonely wolf I´m the last word in the language of the winter and meanwhile the nocturnal brook watches the transition of the spirit my entrails deepen in the storm |
|||
3. | Epic Pagan Times | 10:29 | Show lyrics |
The return of the wintry dream is the tree wich the forest hide but the valley is dark and it reborns in thousands falls When the circle was mine the spring faded in my name Someone will try to explain you this but you won´t understand nothing A burrow isn´t more than a link with the greyish elegy of the wetlands isn´t more than the absence of light in the eyes whom we leave back In my immortal kingdom cold the storm will guide ours battles towards the abyss The blood of our tragic memories will brand a dark passage of sorrow in the stony memorial of the shelvings The black swamp that watches my death symbolizes our past The lie summarizes my existence but not my kingdom Now the last moon of October project her rage in our arms From the deepest of my grave the cruelty of the perpetual winter in the density of the forest Nobody will hear never the agonized melody of the river near the forgotten willow Untill the end of our age Epic Pagan Times The fury of the oceans will go over the path of the ancients bards |
|||
4. | Portrait of Wind and Sorrow | 10:18 | Show lyrics |
I cross over the description of misery and I don´t need to say no more I found the beginning of the path while in the edge distant of the night emerged the wintry whisper of sorrow I go to the north searching for the thickness of the ocean icy of death I have walked towards the inscrutable shadows of the black wizard and I have only known the bitter taste of agony The depth of the abyss has left me finding out, destined for seek answers, in the vast harvest of sadness In the boundaries of the black cold stormy the machines of the dawn have created the dismal melody of the rain The representation of blood flows towards the mountains The wind crosses the unarmed face of the dark ground While we hollow out in the human grief the mystic aura of the dead river involve us The presence be done tactile The spectre recognizes our spirit and the rotten sap of the doubt In a unknown place they sacrificed the threshold in the name of time near the lonely wolf Through the suffering hear the howl of the death in the bowels of the forest The wickedness appears amongst the eternals The flesh dwell in the eye of the black twilight And the path leads to the tree Under the moon I have verified the vastness of the firmament and the humbleness of our empire The way seemed ephemeral then like now From the shelter of the white poplar we hear the dreadful scream of who don´t thinks in the empty of life but in the empty of death The spring has lost I go to the cold for watch the mountains of the past Near to the runnig waters I take off my spirit and I walk |
|||
5. | Walk the Mist in the Lack | 11:41 | Show lyrics |
The brazen light bleeds in the black pitch of memory The cold tear the loneliness of the ocean Through the petals threaten the nocturnal breath of forest The rain listen to the spirit of the mist and mechanices the bitter sensation of the winter The wind naked Once we find the keys to decipher the river but that is not easy I still awaiting the morning full of absence I still screaming in the night near to the border of the past and I don´t have nothing to lose From this lands I gaze at the distance of the empty vastness of the storm and the scream of silent hawks smell as the death amongst the black flowers of cold I lie here near the indifference emotive of the turbid water The morning fog talk in my name In the name of the time I invoke the nightspirit and under the sign of the forest appear my enigmatic steps Nothing can save me from the ancient failure even from wet dream of the night dew I have found all secrets that the ocean could offer me between my hands I lost the nectar of spring and the answer of the unknown tree |
|||
6. | Nectar in the Nocturnal River | 12:02 | Show lyrics |
Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence The ruins of this valley without colour and timeless I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river near to my soul Watch the eternity drags the abyss among the shadows of an enigmatic awakening And the vision of the silent tree covers the snow When the running waters scorn the whisper of the wrath in the elapse of the swamp the Spirit goes over the sorrow The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning The symbolism left in the certainties little more of what I see in this bogs The raw winter left death´s smell in the thickness of misery The things take me to the immensity and the immensity take me to the another things The gloomy melody of the trees knows that the blaze of wind dies in every rainy morning of autumn in the threshold of the night, the tree all the sadness of winter and life shut herself in the mystery of this everlasting rainless The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence |
|||
01:05:31 |
Anonymous Ballad
Members | |
---|---|
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums |
Miscellaneous staff | |
Kris Verwimp | Artwork |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Part One - Thoughts About Worthless Things and the Future [8 Brief Notes in the University Square] | 06:05 | Show lyrics |
Awakens interest and expires clumsily amid grins A certain poetry peeps through the ignorance of the death rattle Elusive immensity in the distance Shouting high plateau in the solitude The groan is wounded and there is a certain resemblance Today’s missed stupidity, tomorrow outlined ideas... The dogged protractedness of the epoch About an incomplete statistic Paragraphs of notoriety are written And fed on scoop The morality of the ambiguous is reflected Resemblance of death So to say, the perfect contradiction of oneself |
|||
2. | Part Two - Sadness and Hopelessness [Conversations in the Lobby] | 05:37 | Show lyrics |
When I was young, the irony was grasped Things were so for a reason And for a reason were those illusions fake Even today a certain distant resemblance is to be seen Facing the undaunted corpse of childhood We’ve made it here for something that doesn’t reveal the slightest dreamy hint |
|||
3. | Part Three - The Advent of Madness [Lucubrations from the Nightmare of July 8th] | 05:04 | Show lyrics |
Keeping it real , the farmer keeps ploughing the same field There was a day when things made sense In that very moment, the night recalled an evoking dusk But it’s not worth too much remembrance Not now or ever, will it make sense Now, my dear friend, you are alone And there’s no way back, and no tales on the road The advent of madness or the foe’s rejection |
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4. | Part Four - No Guide [22:30 (End of the Day): Solitude and Weariness and... Solitude, After All] | 13:49 | Show lyrics |
Hollow words What were you expecting? You now have the gift of mediocrity Rotten clock of immensurable lost hours |
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5. | Part Five - Darkness [Last Tests, Conclusion and the Obscurity at the End of the Tunnel] | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
The jadedness of an epoch The sorrow of the wounded fisherman The darkness For a moment you feel creative And you expire… |
|||
40:27 |
Anonymous Ballad
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Adrián Hernández "Krecho" | Drums |
Miscellaneous staff | |
Kris Verwimp | Artwork |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Part One - Thoughts About Worthless Things and the Future [8 Brief Notes in the University Square] | 06:05 | Show lyrics |
Awakens interest and expires clumsily amid grins A certain poetry peeps through the ignorance of the death rattle Elusive immensity in the distance Shouting high plateau in the solitude The groan is wounded and there is a certain resemblance Today’s missed stupidity, tomorrow outlined ideas... The dogged protractedness of the epoch About an incomplete statistic Paragraphs of notoriety are written And fed on scoop The morality of the ambiguous is reflected Resemblance of death So to say, the perfect contradiction of oneself |
|||
2. | Part Two - Sadness and Hopelessness [Conversations in the Lobby] | 05:37 | Show lyrics |
When I was young, the irony was grasped Things were so for a reason And for a reason were those illusions fake Even today a certain distant resemblance is to be seen Facing the undaunted corpse of childhood We’ve made it here for something that doesn’t reveal the slightest dreamy hint |
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3. | Part Three - The Advent of Madness [Lucubrations from the Nightmare of July 8th] | 05:04 | Show lyrics |
Keeping it real , the farmer keeps ploughing the same field There was a day when things made sense In that very moment, the night recalled an evoking dusk But it’s not worth too much remembrance Not now or ever, will it make sense Now, my dear friend, you are alone And there’s no way back, and no tales on the road The advent of madness or the foe’s rejection |
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4. | Part Four - No Guide [22:30 (End of the Day): Solitude and Weariness and... Solitude, After All] | 13:49 | Show lyrics |
Hollow words What were you expecting? You now have the gift of mediocrity Rotten clock of immensurable lost hours |
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5. | Part Five - Darkness [Last Tests, Conclusion and the Obscurity at the End of the Tunnel] | 09:52 | Show lyrics |
The jadedness of an epoch The sorrow of the wounded fisherman The darkness For a moment you feel creative And you expire… |
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40:27 |
Rara Vez
Members | |
---|---|
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Piano |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Manipulación | 08:33 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Traxedia Española | 09:47 | Show lyrics |
¡Ai de vos! Ánimas sen ceo Aliada co tempo ficou a ideoloxía da morte e a hipocrisía ¿Quén vos lembra? ¡Ai de vos! Ánimas sen terra |
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3. | Crítica da Estupidez Pura | 04:29 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Retorno á Idade Media | 10:06 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | A Involución das Masas | 07:09 | Show lyrics |
È a habitacion do fastìo, pois non se pode sentir outra cousa sen deixar de ser humano. È a falsa sensaciòn de comodidade, è a limpeza asèptica sen paixòn, è o sorriso cristalino sen transparencia. È a publicidade anoxante, bastarda, insulsa, asfixiante, moralizante sen sentenza, pìa sen piedade, è unha enumeraciòn interminable de palabras, de slogans, de frases feitas, ben feitas. È a hipocrisia si, pero no hai nada màis real aquì dentro. È un excelente comezo. O rapaz de terceira fila ten na sùa cabeza unha idea excelente para un relato, o seu primeiro relato. Fai falta ter unha localizaciòn que non dea moitos problemas pero que inspire, que dea pè a unhas personaxes tipo a desenrolar historias interesantes, divertidas para o lecotr, cun comezo àxil, unha trama non moi complicada e un final chocante, inesperado. Non viste con personalidade, non hai nada que o faga ùnico a simple vista. Un dato, un aceso de loucura debidamente tratada, un novo sorriso (eficaz!) Dende o maìs profundo da immundicia, radiante no seu esplendor, xorde unha chiscada de ollo. Cabello louro (real!). A complicidade non se comparte con xentalla, complicidade busca ao superiore e amòsase elocuente para o observador, principalmente cando ninguèn observa. A complicidade vai acompañada dun aparato de comunicaciòn. È imposible escoitala, principalmente cando ninguèn observa. Decidèse a conversiòn dunha alma nunha estatìstica màis, motu proprio. Non è que non haxa remorso, non hai nada. O vello de segunda fila tose. Terà cancro ou un insignificante constipado mal curado? Porque deberia importarnos? A estatìstica exclùeo nunha marxe de beneficios lòxica (ascendente!), unha mulleriña tipo amàrrao con forza pre vendo unha hipotètica caìda. Non acontecerà nada no resto do dìa. Risadas, na habitaciòn escoitamos risadas pouco convencionais, como rin os parvos nunha situaciòn intelixente. O home da primeira fila non està de pè, està totalmente seguro dos seus pasos e comunìcase a travès dun aparello. A caracterizaciòn da habitaciòn e a sùa funcion concreta reprime calquera conversa honesta, agàs a travès dun aparello. Estamos no Nadal. A conversa, o conversante, a situaciòn, a proxecciòn pasada e futura do acontecer anòdino non estimula pensamentos axeitados à efemèride. Què poden importar os detalles (erro!). Fòra de filera algunha. Apartado. Indumentaria pouco axeitada para a situacion, no paìs dos tortos o cego non vale nada. O aparello de comunicaciòn està apagado, dende un àngulo mestre o superior observa con faciana totalmente inexpresiva, pero està sorrindo. Nesta situaciòn os catro ollos teñen un baleiro, o mesmo para a vìtima e para o verdugo porque mañà non haberà vitima ou verdugo…non haberà mañà. Dalgùn xeito, àmbolos dous o saben. Chega alguèn, acumùlase o fastìo. Tal vez cinco personalidades diferentes para tres fileiras iguais. Anquilòsase o mecanismo no interior dos mecànicos. Todos sorrìn. Algo aconteceu na habitaciòn mentres o son tàcito dos aparellos enmudeceu a mùsica vital de cotianidade. Nalgùn momento se perdeu algo no que non cabe a posibilidade de reflexionar, sinxelamente non se pode. Neste baseamento foi edificada a habitaciòn, non sabemos se algo maìs, pois non sabemos nada do exterior. È certo que sabemos algo acerca do interior, pero non sabemos se è certo. O rapaz de terceira fila comeza a desasosegarse, hai personaxes tipo pero non hai historia. Isto è un feito. A habitaciòn è mais pequena agora, a publicidade multiplìcase e un acaba por renderse a lectura de calquera cousa, o que sexa. O control xorde dun descontrol e viceversa. A localizaciòn non ispira. De novo un aparello, a comunicaciòn basease nun aparello e tamèn a orde, determinata, na que se clasifican as tipificaciòns no interior de habitaciòn. Non hai obxectivo, descoñecemos sequera se existe algo maìs que a habitaciòn. Sospeitàmolo. O vello da segunda fila avanza agora. Non existe comunicaciòn posible, non hai aparello, pero isto non evita a conversa fluida, azucrada, xovial, agradable, humana e inerte. Non hai nada de que falar. Risadas, sempre risadas, sempre aparellos adornando o Nadal con musicas e lucerìas. A seguridade do aparello aporta auto confianza, asoballamento implìcito na intenciòn. Explicitase na indiferenza ao apartar a sagrada orde de quenda e condenar ao apartado à soidade pùblica do non cumprimento das expectativas. Aquel home que estivera sentado (exultante!) levantouse e aquel que estivera de pè (decepcionante!) non fixo nada para defender o seu imperio de area no deserto. O superior observouno e o sorriso, eterno sorriso, virou en gargallada, sonora. Retumbou na habitaciòn. As ondas sonoras viaxaron en fracciòns de segundo dun lado ao outro do universo omnìmodo da realidade (unica!). As personaxes tremeron, non podemos saber porque, non interesa. Sò. Aquel que estivera de pè caeu sen màis. Meteu as mans nos bolsos forzando unha posiciòn fetal, apertando os brazos contra o corpo e os nocellos contra o pescozo (despreciable!). Sorrisos no silencio e despois, vergoña. O feito en si da desapariciòn dunha personaxe non implica nada na habitaciòn como non significou a apariciòn recente. A habitaciòn segue igual e todos esqueceron o que non interesaba, esqueceron tamèn o desprezàble, esqueceron o decepcionante, nun esforzo exultante, erròneo pero ascendente, real, e eficaz. Publicidade, pura publicidade. Repentinamente todos saen da habitaciòn, descoñecemos se habìa porta sequera. Todos saen, non sabemos porquè. Tal vez a habitaciòn desaparece, como podemos sabelo? Como continuar fabulando de algo que non existe? Non complicariamos acaso a trama? Innecesario. A parodia duns è o dìa a dìa doutros. A parodia da parodia debe ser inerte. |
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40:04 |
Rara Vez
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Piano |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Manipulación | 08:33 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Traxedia Española | 09:47 | Show lyrics |
¡Ai de vos! Ánimas sen ceo Aliada co tempo ficou a ideoloxía da morte e a hipocrisía ¿Quén vos lembra? ¡Ai de vos! Ánimas sen terra |
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3. | Crítica da Estupidez Pura | 04:29 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Retorno á Idade Media | 10:06 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | A Involución das Masas | 07:09 | Show lyrics |
È a habitacion do fastìo, pois non se pode sentir outra cousa sen deixar de ser humano. È a falsa sensaciòn de comodidade, è a limpeza asèptica sen paixòn, è o sorriso cristalino sen transparencia. È a publicidade anoxante, bastarda, insulsa, asfixiante, moralizante sen sentenza, pìa sen piedade, è unha enumeraciòn interminable de palabras, de slogans, de frases feitas, ben feitas. È a hipocrisia si, pero no hai nada màis real aquì dentro. È un excelente comezo. O rapaz de terceira fila ten na sùa cabeza unha idea excelente para un relato, o seu primeiro relato. Fai falta ter unha localizaciòn que non dea moitos problemas pero que inspire, que dea pè a unhas personaxes tipo a desenrolar historias interesantes, divertidas para o lecotr, cun comezo àxil, unha trama non moi complicada e un final chocante, inesperado. Non viste con personalidade, non hai nada que o faga ùnico a simple vista. Un dato, un aceso de loucura debidamente tratada, un novo sorriso (eficaz!) Dende o maìs profundo da immundicia, radiante no seu esplendor, xorde unha chiscada de ollo. Cabello louro (real!). A complicidade non se comparte con xentalla, complicidade busca ao superiore e amòsase elocuente para o observador, principalmente cando ninguèn observa. A complicidade vai acompañada dun aparato de comunicaciòn. È imposible escoitala, principalmente cando ninguèn observa. Decidèse a conversiòn dunha alma nunha estatìstica màis, motu proprio. Non è que non haxa remorso, non hai nada. O vello de segunda fila tose. Terà cancro ou un insignificante constipado mal curado? Porque deberia importarnos? A estatìstica exclùeo nunha marxe de beneficios lòxica (ascendente!), unha mulleriña tipo amàrrao con forza pre vendo unha hipotètica caìda. Non acontecerà nada no resto do dìa. Risadas, na habitaciòn escoitamos risadas pouco convencionais, como rin os parvos nunha situaciòn intelixente. O home da primeira fila non està de pè, està totalmente seguro dos seus pasos e comunìcase a travès dun aparello. A caracterizaciòn da habitaciòn e a sùa funcion concreta reprime calquera conversa honesta, agàs a travès dun aparello. Estamos no Nadal. A conversa, o conversante, a situaciòn, a proxecciòn pasada e futura do acontecer anòdino non estimula pensamentos axeitados à efemèride. Què poden importar os detalles (erro!). Fòra de filera algunha. Apartado. Indumentaria pouco axeitada para a situacion, no paìs dos tortos o cego non vale nada. O aparello de comunicaciòn està apagado, dende un àngulo mestre o superior observa con faciana totalmente inexpresiva, pero està sorrindo. Nesta situaciòn os catro ollos teñen un baleiro, o mesmo para a vìtima e para o verdugo porque mañà non haberà vitima ou verdugo…non haberà mañà. Dalgùn xeito, àmbolos dous o saben. Chega alguèn, acumùlase o fastìo. Tal vez cinco personalidades diferentes para tres fileiras iguais. Anquilòsase o mecanismo no interior dos mecànicos. Todos sorrìn. Algo aconteceu na habitaciòn mentres o son tàcito dos aparellos enmudeceu a mùsica vital de cotianidade. Nalgùn momento se perdeu algo no que non cabe a posibilidade de reflexionar, sinxelamente non se pode. Neste baseamento foi edificada a habitaciòn, non sabemos se algo maìs, pois non sabemos nada do exterior. È certo que sabemos algo acerca do interior, pero non sabemos se è certo. O rapaz de terceira fila comeza a desasosegarse, hai personaxes tipo pero non hai historia. Isto è un feito. A habitaciòn è mais pequena agora, a publicidade multiplìcase e un acaba por renderse a lectura de calquera cousa, o que sexa. O control xorde dun descontrol e viceversa. A localizaciòn non ispira. De novo un aparello, a comunicaciòn basease nun aparello e tamèn a orde, determinata, na que se clasifican as tipificaciòns no interior de habitaciòn. Non hai obxectivo, descoñecemos sequera se existe algo maìs que a habitaciòn. Sospeitàmolo. O vello da segunda fila avanza agora. Non existe comunicaciòn posible, non hai aparello, pero isto non evita a conversa fluida, azucrada, xovial, agradable, humana e inerte. Non hai nada de que falar. Risadas, sempre risadas, sempre aparellos adornando o Nadal con musicas e lucerìas. A seguridade do aparello aporta auto confianza, asoballamento implìcito na intenciòn. Explicitase na indiferenza ao apartar a sagrada orde de quenda e condenar ao apartado à soidade pùblica do non cumprimento das expectativas. Aquel home que estivera sentado (exultante!) levantouse e aquel que estivera de pè (decepcionante!) non fixo nada para defender o seu imperio de area no deserto. O superior observouno e o sorriso, eterno sorriso, virou en gargallada, sonora. Retumbou na habitaciòn. As ondas sonoras viaxaron en fracciòns de segundo dun lado ao outro do universo omnìmodo da realidade (unica!). As personaxes tremeron, non podemos saber porque, non interesa. Sò. Aquel que estivera de pè caeu sen màis. Meteu as mans nos bolsos forzando unha posiciòn fetal, apertando os brazos contra o corpo e os nocellos contra o pescozo (despreciable!). Sorrisos no silencio e despois, vergoña. O feito en si da desapariciòn dunha personaxe non implica nada na habitaciòn como non significou a apariciòn recente. A habitaciòn segue igual e todos esqueceron o que non interesaba, esqueceron tamèn o desprezàble, esqueceron o decepcionante, nun esforzo exultante, erròneo pero ascendente, real, e eficaz. Publicidade, pura publicidade. Repentinamente todos saen da habitaciòn, descoñecemos se habìa porta sequera. Todos saen, non sabemos porquè. Tal vez a habitaciòn desaparece, como podemos sabelo? Como continuar fabulando de algo que non existe? Non complicariamos acaso a trama? Innecesario. A parodia duns è o dìa a dìa doutros. A parodia da parodia debe ser inerte. |
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40:04 |
Describing the Paradox Vol.I
Members | |
---|---|
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Overture | 08:24 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Unscrutable Truth | 10:28 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Describing the Paradox | 07:09 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Inerte | 09:00 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
35:01 |
Describing the Paradox Vol.I
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
J.L. Montáns | Vocals, Guitars |
Marta Barcia | Bass |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Overture | 08:24 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Unscrutable Truth | 10:28 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Describing the Paradox | 07:09 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Inerte | 09:00 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
35:01 |
Band ascii art
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