I. PRELUDE TO THE PASSING OF HUMANKIND / II. THE UNVEILINGS
At last, you are done with this
oh, modern and new brave world.
You traveller, you lost soul
at the end of times.
There is something that is burning,
and my nerves do nothing.
There is something that is burning,
and my nerves do nothing but crawl on the floor.
My little friend,
there is war outside
and my nerves do nothing
but crawl
like those black snakes
you once told me about,
that only in dreams
you have seen.
I would like to say
this is not our end,
but now I'm here
in the middle of the mist.
And to see the things
that would rather be
remain unseen:
an entire world burning now/down.
I have seen the dead,
I have seen destruction,
my wounds whose blood falls down
to the infinite.
Everything is nothing.
There is something that is burning,
and my nerves do nothing.
There is something that is burning.
May it not be us.
And oh, winter.
Days with no sun
may never stop...
...how the flowers bloom;
to see those leaves fall.
And who, if I scream, would hear me now
among the angels?
And who would hold me near their chest,
for beauty is terror?
credits
from The Last Path,
released May 5, 2023
All music written, performed, recorded and produced by Alex Becerra, except:
• Saxophone and clarinet solos - written, performed and recorded by Valeria Dávila.
• Female vocals - performed and recorded by Valeria Dávila.
• Trumpet - performed and recorded by Alán Fajardo.
Lyrics adapted from a poem by Alejandro H. Monarres.
supported by 76 fans who also own “Prelude to the Passing of Humankind / The Unveilings”
On ne frappe pas un homme à terre : c'est ce que dit la règle mais NONE a déjà prouvé qu'il ne les suivait pas et si son album éponyme retirait toute perspective de béatitude spirituelle, Life has gone on long enough, son deuxième opus, nous interdit l'accès au bonheur terrestre. La vie n'a aucune substance et la production plus distante le confirme. Le DSBM s'empare de textures sonores blues, mettant en relief une dépression urbaine. Les cris partent en fumées : ne restent que les pleurs... Jordan Vauvert