Flowers in Fire

I woke up from a driven coma.
Around me bewildered glances, stunned by fear,
Ghosts with bruised bodies.
Faces obscure and sting.

Who don’t know anything about themselves.
The night annihilated what they built during the day.
Daylight promotes the weary comedy of courtesy,
With the favour of darkness the heroin of denial comes.

Flowers in fire.
Torturing visions.
Withdrawal of anguishes.
Blood-soaked wadding

Flowers in fire.
Torturing visions.
Around me bewildered glances,
stunned by fear.

I was guided by your scent, toward enchanting climes
A speedy fire ran my veins and knocked at my heart.
My brain is bleeding, pierced by surgical tool
Raped and slaughtered to make me feel good.

Flowers in fire.
Torturing visions.
Withdrawal of anguishes.
Blood-soaked wadding.

Flowers in fire.
Torturing visions.
Around me bewildered glances,
stunned by fear.

I refused to modify my genealogical inheritance
‘Cause I was afraid the mirror would have ceased to shine
stiff and pitifully unsatisfied by existence
awfully crucified to life.

I woke up from a driven coma, it was necessary.
Around me bewildered glances, stunned by fear,
Ghosts with bruised bodies.
Faces obscure and sting.

The Night’s Theatre

Every night the man rises his imaginary stage
in his theatre he becomes actor, spectator of himself
Every night the man rises his imaginary stage
The man is dreaming.

I dream to float on my life’s surface
I am the stranger who looks inside.

I am not the material body,
constructed by the seven elements.
I am not the five senses, the hearing, the taste, the olfaction, the touch, the sight.

And I am not the sound, the savour, the smell, the matter, the seeing.
And I am not the five knowledge elements, the speaking, the movement, the feeling.

I am not the five vital breaths
nether I am the thinking mind
And I am not the memory,
concerning the residual impressions of objects.

I am a dreamer, who hates illusions
and this produces the vicious rage I’m not able to refuse.
I lost myself in darkness.

In the obscurity I find myself again
I annihilated myself and now I get
conscience of my power
I burn out and I reborn
I desire and my unconscious satisfies me.

I dream to float on my life’s surface
I am the stranger who looks inside…
I am a dreamer, who hates illusions.

Death Vision

Spectre of death influencing our lives, you hang over us
You bite our hips we undergo your second level effects
You sunk us in your vortex, you cyclically return
to molest our certainty.
I reject repetitions, I cannot keep abreast
of my thoughts, too fast…

I don’t check my weigh, I hate all pre-arranged feasts
I’m used to writing when I’m alone, I hate chewing people
I sink you in my vortex, I cyclically return to molest your certainty.

Snow falls attracted by earth
An inner passion moves it,
Like the passion between the seeds and the ground.

Black vision, lack of pressure and collapse
Red vision, blood up to brain.
I live in a marsh of crimes and nerves
Hybrid of happy sprawls
Lighted by invention.
My breast of tenebra feeds the silence.

Black vision, lack of pressure and collapse
Red vision, blood up to brain.

…e nella notte vaghi tesori rifulgono.

Whispers of Sin

I listened to the sound of the rebirth and chaos
Timid essence of an ancestral ego
I had the visions of an enchanted world
Mucked up by the vile actions of men.

I abandoned the oasis of fragility in the desert of my confusion.

I listened to the sound of the rebirth and chaos
Timid essence of an ancestral ego
I had the visions of an enchanted world
Mucked up by the vile actions of men…

…But delighted by the whisperings of sin
If spirits shook hearts and minds
Then souls would rise to splendid capricious and prismatic beings
No longer in the shade of pain trees.

In the not-light of few angels and fairies in ecstasy
That bewitch suffering and turn it into blinding, gratifying night.

I listened to the sound of the rebirth and chaos
Timid essence of an ancestral ego
I had the visions of an enchanted world
Mucked up by the vile actions of men.

Assassin

Much madness is divinest sense,
demur and be dangerous.
I had been hungry of news, creativity and freedom,
Now I can eat of them and I’m not sated yet.

And now I roam the sovereign woods
And every time I speak the mountains straight reply.

I have the power to kill without the power to die,
but I have no enemies and I don’t need revenge.
I don’t know death nor defeat
Even if I marched in the sewer of hell.

Much madness is divinest sense,
demur and be dangerous.
I had been thirsty of knowledge, action and bravery
Now I can rule my flesh and I won’t save a place for your death.

Now I can keep agony away.
And I refuse men escaping from the mind of man.
Witchcraft was hung, but I find the magic I need inside me every day.
I don’t believe in sins nor in temptation
Even if I crept into the womb of the beast.
Now I can keep agony away.

The Days of the After and Behind

I was walking in the dust
Through the half-closed spaces
Incrustations of mud and dew
Resins dripped in the stone.
I discerned a man, alone,
Frightened eyes, red of pain.

I was walking in the pale wintry sun
Through the substrates of the wind
Mosaics of clouds like raging herds.
I discerned a crow, fierce, scanning the horizon…

… vitreous eyes… and silver tears…
notes of a new pentagram,
white pages ready to shelter obscure mysteries.

I was walking in the dust
Through the half-closed spaces
Incrustations of mud and dew
Resins dripped in the stone.
I discerned a man, alone,
Frightened eyes, red of pain.

These are the days of the after and behind,
The days of the present, that rolls by slow and full.

I was walking in the dust
Through the half-closed spaces
Mosaics of clouds like raging herds.
I was walking in the dust
Through the half-closed spaces
Vitreous eyes and silver tears.

Apocalypse

In you I saw the fear that destroys
You were infected by it.
Fear is an illness, that crawls into souls and contaminates peace.
You didn’t grow up to live in fear
Erase it from your heart, don’t bring it with you.

Join us on the sacred hill of our fathers
And ask their spirits to guide us.
Sweet pitying mother protect them from suffering.

Oh brothers who are sleeping,
You have touched the cold morning of this day
But now you cannot feel the ice of the night.

We fight ‘cause the gallows goddess has no mercy upon the weak
Her soul is waiting for yours in the shade of the cypress
Before this day comes to its end I will leave this world
And again I will embrace hell’s torments with pleasure.

You are afraid of me, it is right you feel it
For you all, ignoble beings, the sacred time is coming.
Beware of the sun obscurity
Beware of the man who leads the jaguar
Look at him reviving from the mud and dust.

He will erase the sky and scrape the earth
He will sweep you away and put an end to your world
He is with us now.
Soon the day will look like the night.
And you’ll be led to your end.

The Oracle (of the Fog)

A veiled fog alights on the dark skin of the night
I crossed it pensive, with the heart full of hope.
Today I spoke again with the man, who taught me to dare
His face is grievously embalmed in baked clay.

But his spirit continues to pulse inside me.
He said: “sometimes you need to risk, to do something else,
ought to forgo guarantees, ‘cause they are also compulsions”.

His words are my oracle, also after a long time.
I told my story to him
And his eyes turned into a loving smile.

There is silence now
The beasts have arrived
and their fangs have caught them all,
but me.

The oracle of the fog prophesied a favourable destiny
The spirit of the right conscience will pulse
inside me forever and ever and ever.
A veiled fog alights on the dark skin of the night

A veiled fog alights on the dark skin of the night
I crossed it pensive, with the heart full of hope.

Requiem

I thought about a sacrifice
And if anyone has ever understood what I wrote
In the shadows, in blood, with blood
I thought about a sacrifice…

Actually I don’t mind.
You can however drink of me,
as I was a marble fountain in the heart of Rome,

I thought about a sacrifice
And if anyone has ever understood what I wrote
In the shadows, in blood, with blood
I thought about a sacrifice…

Actually I don’t mind.
You can however eat of me,
as I was a wedding banquet you were not invited to.

Mourn on my portrait,
Cry on my stone,
It’s not me to pay the coffin,
neither cash, nor rates.
Mourn on my portrait,
Cry on my stone,
It’s not me to pay the coffin,
neither cash, nor rates.

If god existed and I believed in him
he would be seated in this room with me.
Tuba mirum spargens sonum per sepulchra regionum.

My thoughts are too inmost for your lips.
My words are too low for your ears.
If god existed and I believed in him
he would be seated in this room with me.
The reign of fire hasn’t come to its end yet
My pulsing blood is not dried in the veins yet.

(Accogliete la sua anima e presentatela davanti al trono dell’altissimo.)

This is Not the Silence

This is not the silence, but its void
Without memory, fixed in formalin.
Sea without shores and horizons
Wind dissolving dried up remains
Obscurity of visceral holes
Sinking into remote abysses
Fragments of a stigmatized soul
Defying the other side of destiny.

Iron force digging the heart pulp
Pure diamond shining in secret on the tame limit of imploring blood
Game of deceit and illusions
Hand that raises the curtain
Every atom of air nourishing me.

Melting the unknown
Unleashing the black cloud of enigmas.
Don’t close your eyes in the face of havoc
Cure the ill sprouts!

Blind universe, hollow in which we write what we have done
We are programmed to believe in something we cannot see
Armed with instinct of escape and defence
The dead cannot lie
Azure bruise, embrace without possess of beauty.

Immense cruet of quartz, where gold and basalt merge in primordial vibrations.

Savage dawn, blurry stars massacre
Arcane sky, spheres in shiver.
It is the power of magic radiating from us, exiling us.
Foster the comment of birds and nature
Energy and music of stones
The theorem of the devil rustles immortal luxury.

I am bloodless and now only dust can bloom in my veins dry like brambles.
And now the wound is thirsty of another blade.

Hypnotic Psychosis

Sickness and delirium
Testimony of madness
Electric orgasm of frequencies
Aphrodisiac mosaic of sounds.
Experiencing a complete absence of nostalgia
Producing anti-prosaic impact on symphonies.

Arabesques of notes played by disembodied chess master
Acoustic stimulations for harmonic erections.
Extracting the basic formula of evil virus
Screaming, loud noise!

Hysterical physical changes, ghosts waiting for a body.
Abdicated flashes burning in a cold yellow halo
The evil is there waiting.
Grey as ashes
Galvanized by obscenities.

Hypnotic psychosis
Visceral stimulations
Virtual addiction of cerebral events
Relief from tension.
Testimonies of horror
Nubbly degenerations
Venereal disease.

Catatonic sensations
Suppurating scars,
translucent disharmony.
Administrator of artificial respiration
Ruling days of black terror
Asymmetrical pothole, merging several places at once.