Lyrics of the day

I’ve walked these streets a thousand times, still this world never seemed colder.
Compromised a thousand times to the will of malicious minds.
Reality never hit so f*cking hard.
Crushed by endless desperation, endless surrender.

Retrace the steps, 
Is this what I have become?
Retrace the steps, 
What the f*ck have I become?

Security, illusion for the weak.
Refuge, sought in routine.
Another gear in their fucking machine.

See, you can win the rat race but you’re still nothing but a fucking rat.
So seek that crown, because in this kingdom of fools true ignorance reigns supreme.

I see this city for what it is, a monument to the depths of human misery.
Retrace the steps.
What have we become?

– PWD

Don’t count on government

Don’t count on government for your security 
Don’t count on any neighbour for their camaraderie 

Forget it. forget it 
The sense of ease you would wish for most 
A
ll the wicked lies forming in their wicked throats 
Oh. to break all the wicked molds 
Formed in human life. by which we’re surrounded 

Faithless 


Never underestimate stupidity of man 

Get in the way – of his wretched plans 
Never underestimate stupidity of man 
Get in the way – of his wretched aftermath 


Don’t count on government for your security 

Don’t count on any neighbour for their camaraderie 


They are flawed
 
Trust is a mistake 
Even decent men mess what’s on their plate 


Subject to the urge 

Written all over their face 
Fallen decent men. victims of their nature 


Faithless
 


The movers and shakers
 
Have me moving far away 
The movers and shakers 
Have me shaking my head 


Never underestimate stupidity of man 

Get in the way – of his wretched plans 
Never underestimate stupidity of man 
Get in the way – of his wretched aftermath 

Don’t count on government for your security 
Don’t count on any neighbour for their camaraderie 
Comfort. friendship 
Let them not be lost

— Sick Of It All

The treaty and the bridge

You’re not blind, I know you see but you just don’t want to believe that the politicians lie. 
People have a right to vote for the ones who can afford to cover up their lies.

They let you in when it comes to big decisions. 
That way it seems as if you have controls to your mind. 

Deep inside your head they plant the lies t
hey want you to believe. 
They threaten you with their terror propaganda ‚til you do just what they want you to.

The power’s not in your hands i
t’s in the money they possess to get just what they want.
Make up your mind or else they will make it up for you for sure and they’ll get just what they want.

They let you in when it comes to big decisions but first of all they feed their fucking answers to your mind.
 
Propaganda to convince seems to be the one who wins. 
Confidence passifies make you believe in the political lies.
So now we’re joining the treaty and we’re building the bridge.

— Satanic Surfers

Quote of the day

[…]
Every individual is a world,
Every individual is an individual world.
So if you like someone, you like a wold.
And if you hate someone, you hate a world.
Ad if you lose someone, you’ve lost a world.
And if you kill someone you kill a world.

Tell me that you never knew,
That this is the kind of thing you’ll never do.
‚Cause we all see the things that we see,
The way that they are, not the way that it should be.
[…]


“Because I can.”
/Kay

Quote of the day

[…]

Out there in the spotlight, you’re a million miles away
every ounce of energy, you try and give away
as the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play.

Later in the evenin’, as you lie awake in bed,
with the echoes of the amplifiers, ringin’ in your head,
you smoke the day’s last cigarette, rememberin’ what she said…

[…]


„Because I can.“
/Kay

Quote of the day

[…]
You still stood there screaming
No one caring about these words you tell
My friend, before your voice is gone
One man’s fun is another’s hell
These times are sent to try men’s souls
But something’s wrong with all you see
You, you’ll take it on all yourself
Remember, misery loves company
[…]

Fight the unacceptable

It’s time to realize that our stay on this planet is just temporary.
Everyday we come closer to the end by bursting out in rivalry.
The tension, anger and anxiety puts a mental mark on us, don’t you agree?
When we look up in the sky,
Standing on our knees begging that the documentaries
On Discovery are just fucking lies on the TV screen.

People tell me to be less pessimistic,
But I’m just trying real hard to be realistic.
I feel my anger rise as I’m witnessing
That people are slipping into coma.

People are spending dollars on water tapped in fancy bottles.
And don’t you agree?
The gesture is not so much an act of stupidity.
It ‘s just a sign of our destructive mentality.
When we look into the pacific sea,
And find a continent of plastic so unreal.
We know how to shrug it off our shoulders,
What a fucking valuable ability.
Indeed the human race made it’s mark, soon this will be over.
All of this provoked me into writing this piece,
We must be slipping into a coma.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Noticing all these changes,
widening our fucking ranges,
writing down all these pages,
usually filled with rage when I jump onto the stages.
I’ve been demolishing your bullshit for ages,
this time I’m breaking it, our friendship, your smile.
See you in the city while you are faking it.

From Hertz Island we expanded,
never delivered or landed,
more than the label demanded.
Competition telling us to follow those guidelines, and to stay right handed
but music comes from the heart, lyrics from my head to my hand, and I ‘m left handed.

My friend watch out for the traitors.
I see them but I try to close my eyes for the haters.

My name is Alexander,
the Raised Fist commander,
the unsinkable ship never stranded.
Not trendy, not even branded, 16 years and never disbanded,
from Hertz Island we expanded.

And I try to keep myself sober,
until the tour is over,
think I’ve grown a bit older.
I’m burning inside, but my outside is much colder,
competition telling us to follow guidelines, to stay right handed.
Music from the heart, lyrics from the head to my hand and I’m left handed

[Both: R.F.]

[Nachtrag]: Gris – Zahnrad aus Fleisch (aus dem Album Progrisiv [2003])

Durchschnittlich 75 Jahre bleibt mein Geist auf dieser Erde,
Also nutz ich den Beat und Rap damit ich nicht zu schnell vergessen werde.
An die ersten Jahre erinnerst Du Dich erst für sehr viel Geld beim Therapeuten –
Ein stark zerstörter verrückter Doktor, der Dir erklärt was sie für Dich bedeuten.

Bis zur Pubertät lebst Du in einer später nicht mehr existenten Realität,
In der das Leben aus Ehrlichkeit und Spielen und jedem Tag immer Neuen entsteht.
Doch dann beginnt die bekannte Suche nach dem Wie und Warum;
Du fühlst Dich jeden Tag ein bisschen schlauer, aber bist aus der Sicht von heute sehr dumm.

Sieh Dich um, nicht nur in schwarzweiß und erkenne Details, Übergänge und Nuancen,
hör Dich um aber filter’ seine Stimmen, wenn Du denkst das Du dran bist und nutz jede Chance.
Halt die Balance und wandere auf dem Grat, mal verarscht Du, mal wirst Du verarscht,
Die Prüfung ist verdammt hart, denn Messers Schneide ist haarscharf.

Es folgt Deine Ausbildungsphase und da merkst Du, Du machst mindestens zwei,
Eine berufliche und eine innere Reifeprüfung für den Geist.
Welche die Wichtige von beiden ist, brauch ich hoffentlich nicht zu erwähnen,
Denn die eine ist für Dich, die andere für Dich im System

Doch wo sind deine Eltern stolz und je härter und je mehr Stunden der Sohn malocht
Und nicht traurig, daß er ihnen folgt und so seine Energie nur verpoft.
„Er verdient jetzt ordentlich Geld, hat nur keine Zeit es auszugeben.
Er geht morgens los, und kommt erst abends wieder – na was für’n Leben.“

Doch trotzdem schafft es diese riesige Maschinerie,
Uns ein Leben lang einzupferchen und uns weiszumachen ein Leben von dem man träumt klappt so nie.
Man zieht resigniert den Hut, und wartet auf den Regen;
„Ob ich heute blau mache, Du det muss ich mir schon dreimal überlegen“

Im Einen-mal-im-Jahr-Urlaub erinnert die Sonne an das, was man sich mal vornahm,
Aber man macht lieber die mitgenommene Arbeit, als sich einfach mal’n Horn an.
Laptop unter der Sonnenliege, nur in einer Dualbank für internationales Netz,
Und nie ein bisschen Ruhe, sogar auf einer Jagd wird weniger gehetzt.

Du arbeitest aufs Wochenende, auf den Sommerurlaub und dann auf den Lebensabend.
Dort willst Du Dich ausruhn, und zwar nicht ohne Geld zu haben.
Komm, schufte als Flucht vor der Familie, oder eifrig aus Gier,
Und Scheiß drauf, dass Du den Blick aufs Wesentliche verlierst.

Mich machst Du aggressiv, Du tust mir leid, ich Dir wahrscheinlich auch,
Ja reg Dich auf, wenn ich mal drei Monate nicht jobbe, und trotzdem viel rauch.
Und mir den Bauch voll schlage, wie ‘ne fette Made im Speck.
Du über meinen Dauerminikontostand lachst und auf einmal in den Schulden steckst.

Ob arm oder reich am Ende, liegst Du in einem Bett,
Bist bösartig zu den Schwestern, oder dankbar und nett.
Du wirst intravenös ernährt, und kriegst nicht mal mit wenn Du kackst,
Deine Nachkommen warten, und streiten um eventuelle Kohle, die Du noch hast.

Doch dann kommt Gevatter Tod, der unbeeindruckt von deinem Vermögen Dich noch mal bekuckt
Und dann abrupt dein Leben nimmt mit einem Ruck – Einem leichten Ruck

[Nachtrag]: Kälte.

Frozen

The girls on the streets all look sad in this gold encrested little town
Why is that?
Isn’t this the town of dreams?
yeah… But it comes with a price

It’s a town that never does anything and yet takes all the credit
A place that promises so much,
But never has a thing to say,
Or a care in the world

There is no memory here
No dream for itself but the dreams of others
And all over the world you talk of a place you’ve only seen in re-runs
Immorallized for it’s vice, and deified for it’s carnage

(There’s money in the air there)
(All you have to do is reach up and grab it)

In basements, garages, parking lots, empty lots, schoolyards, town cars, backrooms and more
Diamonds are fashioned from expectations and fortified on a steady diet,
of simple lives and red carpets
The ejaculating zeitgeist in nightvision
Culture is a punchline and emotion is blood in the water
The sharks here play games you can’t fathom

But you flock here anyway
On college money and credit cards
Spend a week bullshitting yourself that it was all true
All of it
Just to watch in horror as it all falls to pieces under the gravity of reality

The stary eyes fade as it dawns on you
Nothing is garanteed
You are a part of the great divide –
The choosen or the frozen

Now your mouth’s away without a net
Your college money’s a collage of debt
and your credit cards are all snapped in fucking half
time to wander a landscape bereft of mercy
This is now the backlot of your failed movie
A waking dream re-written without your permission
The real luster, the soft focus, the…
Soap opera vision is just the hindsight of a world who’s been lied to
Of sad surfs and untouchable lords

You took a chance didn’t you?
But chance didn’t have a par for you this time around, maybe next life
And you can’t even walk home

The girls on the streets all look sad in this cardboard cut-out little town
(huh) No wonder
That’s the only thing here that’s real
The gold is for fools
And paradise is lost but the hungry have never bothered with the cost
Day by day they fall away like rose pedals
Like – ink that won’t dry or fade
It just runs wild down cracks and crevices, grooves and folds
so I hope someone saves you before you get cold
I really do

Because the girls are all sad in this little black book
If you don’t beleive me, take a closer look
if you can