Αύριο (στις 24 Μαρτίου) στο Gagarin (Λιοσίων 205), στις 9 το βράδυ, εμφανίζονται οι Current 93, για τους οποίους ομολογώ την αδυναμία μου να γράψω το οτιδήποτε λογικό.
Lyrics to They Returned To Their Earth (for My Christ Thorn) :
When serpents come
They cover the Christ thorn
Two heads
And cock heads
Serpents feet of emotion
Lidded eyes and smudged reality
Everything has two faces
One is earthly without true form
The other blackened and blackening
And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
You know well its tortured form
It's locked within a particular place
It's locked within a particular form
It's jailed by a falling light
With angles shapes and size
It's held by true what
It's held in through place
It's an aim that has no name
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
It's a form creating formless
Formless creating form
Oh four towers reaping backwards
Do not spell the sound
Do not move to the lies
Speak the words and they create the universe
And they destroy all universe
Mother sleeps in the fields
And father he reaps in the fields
Heavy-lidded eyes do not mask his pain
They shade us from the burning light
Listen one face one form one truth
I see it through the shading glass
I see it fractured in the world
This is not true
It's appearance only
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
An eagle flies his bloody face
Behind bloody claws behind bloody claws
His pain is blackened rain
His rain is Roman
Sire the pain it is not finished
I happens now
Matchstick man in a matchstick world
Nake the prime slice the sickle
Nake the sickle slice the core
Time stops when he was thirty-three
And mother is in the fields
And father is in the fields
Time stops when i am thirty
Time stops then and time stops there
Then is now
Oh why do we not say it
Time stops time breaks time folds
Time ceases
And pestle grindes the mortar
The mortar turns to dust
The metal turns to rust
Words they fail they fall apart
The corn it dies and is reborn
And mother stays in the fields
And father is in the fields
Blond hair moves in the blond corn
Boyd wears black he talks of death
But all his faces spell out light's on the roof
He's kissing a rose
A blooddrop comes from the heart of her life
Something hangs above there in the skies
Something hovers above his brown hair
Life without us in the background of light
And the birds don't sing
When the curtain snaps
Anita's in Ireland
She's falling over rocks
Stars of the sky stars of the pain
And all stars meet in a falling star
And some make money from weapons' blood
And some make money from fear's blood
And some make money from hunger's blood
And some make money from politics' blood
And some make money from religion's blood
The world falls apart
The world starts to cease
And mother is in the fields
And father has died in the fields
They cover the Christ thorn
Two heads
And cock heads
Serpents feet of emotion
Lidded eyes and smudged reality
Everything has two faces
One is earthly without true form
The other blackened and blackening
And mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
You know well its tortured form
It's locked within a particular place
It's locked within a particular form
It's jailed by a falling light
With angles shapes and size
It's held by true what
It's held in through place
It's an aim that has no name
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
It's a form creating formless
Formless creating form
Oh four towers reaping backwards
Do not spell the sound
Do not move to the lies
Speak the words and they create the universe
And they destroy all universe
Mother sleeps in the fields
And father he reaps in the fields
Heavy-lidded eyes do not mask his pain
They shade us from the burning light
Listen one face one form one truth
I see it through the shading glass
I see it fractured in the world
This is not true
It's appearance only
Mother is in the fields
Father is in the fields
An eagle flies his bloody face
Behind bloody claws behind bloody claws
His pain is blackened rain
His rain is Roman
Sire the pain it is not finished
I happens now
Matchstick man in a matchstick world
Nake the prime slice the sickle
Nake the sickle slice the core
Time stops when he was thirty-three
And mother is in the fields
And father is in the fields
Time stops when i am thirty
Time stops then and time stops there
Then is now
Oh why do we not say it
Time stops time breaks time folds
Time ceases
And pestle grindes the mortar
The mortar turns to dust
The metal turns to rust
Words they fail they fall apart
The corn it dies and is reborn
And mother stays in the fields
And father is in the fields
Blond hair moves in the blond corn
Boyd wears black he talks of death
But all his faces spell out light's on the roof
He's kissing a rose
A blooddrop comes from the heart of her life
Something hangs above there in the skies
Something hovers above his brown hair
Life without us in the background of light
And the birds don't sing
When the curtain snaps
Anita's in Ireland
She's falling over rocks
Stars of the sky stars of the pain
And all stars meet in a falling star
And some make money from weapons' blood
And some make money from fear's blood
And some make money from hunger's blood
And some make money from politics' blood
And some make money from religion's blood
The world falls apart
The world starts to cease
And mother is in the fields
And father has died in the fields
