Parece un grito de desesperación
viernes, 13 de febrero de 2009
martes, 3 de febrero de 2009
Epica - The Phantom Agony
[I. Impasse of Thoughts]
I can’t see you, I can’t hear you
Do you still exist?
I can’t feel you, I can’t touch you,
Do you exist?
The Phantom Agony
I can’t taste you, I can’t think of you,
Do we exist at all?
[II. Between hope and despair]
The future doesn’t pass
And the past won’t overtake the present
All that remains is an obsolete illusion
We are afraid of all the things that could not be
A phantom agony
Do we dream at night
Or do we share the same old fantasy?
I am a silhouette of the persen wandering in my dreams
Tears of unprecedented beauty
Reveal the truth of existence
We’re all sadists
The age-old development of consciousness
Drives us away from the essence of life
We meditate too much, so that our instincts will fade away
They fade away
What’s the point of life
And what’s the meaning if we all die in the end?
Does it make sense to learn or do we forget everything?
Tears of unprecedented beauty
Reveal the truth of existence
We’re all pessimists
Teach me how to see and free the disbelief in me
What we get is what we see, the Phantom Agony
[III. Nevermore]
The lucidity of my mind has been revealde in new dreams
I am able to travel where my heart goes
In search of self-realisation
This is the way to escape from our agitation
And develop ourselves
Use your illusion and enter my dream...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAlRf9qf9d0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aLwkFInSgw&feature=related
lunes, 2 de febrero de 2009
Epica - Feint
The very brightest candle of all has been extinguished
Smothered by those who could not bear to face reality
Every beat of your heart tore the lies all apart
Made foundations quiver
Every wave in the lake caused the porcelain to break
And I shiver....
The leftover tallow just doesn't contain
All the right answers
Under a sea of dust lies a vast wealth of wisdom
As untouched snow turns red
Innocence dies
This black page in history is not colourfast,
Will stain the next
All what remains is just a feint of what was meant to be
This black page in history is not colourfast,
Will stain the next
And nothing seems in life,
In dreams like what was meant to be.
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