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NEMESIS OCVLTA LYRICS
"The Complex" (2002)
1. Apeiron
2. Biography Of An Actor
3. Mikrokosmos
4. Chrysalis
5. Maiden In Winter
6. The Inflection Point
7. Crystalsomber
8. Ethernous
9. The Complex: Pro(to)thesis
10. Kaosmos
1. Apeiron
2. Biography Of An Actor
A transmutation is the metaphor
of a diathermy in the water.
I am looking at the castle that is coming down,
the first man is at my side.
Life goes on as a water snail.
Why are we here, in the summit of the scale?
Just a horizontal stairway.
Soil in thy soul, ashes in her legs.
Images of the elder asking for pity.
The woman laughing of his teeth.
Reality is not anymore a dream
for somebody in the other side of the moon,
in this second.
A hand slowly grasps the air,
whisper of the last aspiration.
The woman holds her breast with the force
of her ancestors
and milk became a star in elder's smile.
The chance is the only life for my molecules.
The smile of my atoms tells me
that we will find a shadow when the Earth
ends its fourth cicle.
But I cannot rest until there is a fourth direction
that has four directions.
The ship is about to leave.
We are late; let die the dead.
3. Mikrokosmos
In the nectar grows the moss,
there is no difference...
And I saw to the whole
that was glass and the one:
Fire.
Lost images that hang
from a subtlety similar to the breath,
where there is no wall that separates
the straight line from the spiral.
The genius is joined in the trip of the spiral
diluting between water threads that escape.
At seven thousand lunar radios
I listen to the beat of thy tears
that fall from the hell to the sky
and from there they rise
to the horizon.
From the rumor of the marine wolves
is heard that god gotten dressed of moon
before the ocean attempts inoculate on the night,
and the last breath of the candles fights against
the tenuous gasp of two lovers.
In the waterfall, the Nepenthes writhes in the neck
of the oldman that recalls
how young is the moment;
the sigh in the form of albatross to the outside returns
and falls precisely in the uncertainty of some lips
reddened by the blows...
It's seen that the Dantesque nights have been
lost as the poison in the tragedy,
returns "the lover, painting on his beautiful beloved,
resembles a moribund that caresses his tomb".
4. Chrysalis
Ground slave, without can't fall: always down.
Reasons? For what? I only see
monstrousities: In the Hashish field,
I see the Harvester.
Killing my bride in a trestle table.
When would be unleashed the hell?
Both dummies, in an incessant doubt twister,
looked as grate strangers: different ways,
immutable, and tired. She opens her legs,
and I ask her to close them.
Grate strangers.
We're out, damned, alone, and astonished,
let die and quickly.
We're as chrysalis, ready to crush and never.
5. Maiden In Winter
A maiden, wounded by anxiety,
waits that the winter settles in a leaf,
the snow that can dry her tearful breast.
Avidity for a thalamus where all pain is gone,
resting with the mother-tree.
To bath in a waterfall
where a god is hidden after a crime.
Nude, the virgin rests in the snow,
waiting now nothing:
bare of clothes that can make her different.
The winds, migrating from the emperor's ear,
whisper among the woods the name
of an unborn knowledge.
No determinated ways in their search,
in their music.
Woodwind.
Rumors of an invisible space, rumors
of all the times. Unknown goddess,
unapprehendable.
Caressing the land, the snow,
the winds do not make difference
between it and the maiden.
Now she, with her skin caressed by winter,
cannot understand who she is:
metamorphosis of the conscience:
flesh-snow-wind:
freshness of the sex and the breast.
6. The Inflection Point
The last second:
I can't imagine my birth,
I loose myself in the "beggining".
There has been always a terrible fear
to the begginings and to the ends.
In which moment we began to fear death?
Even the infinite is insufficient,
the exception is enormous.
For the first time a hole allows
to enter the outside to my body...
To be implies too much solemnity.
From time to time we see the moon
in search of answers; I've always believed
that truth is in the streets.
The outside and the steps are carried
away well, and what's of my exterior?
Just a crater,
that is a point and that disappears
upon covering the face with a white blanket.
Do I return? This time not!
The universe is one and of crystal:
fragil... November.
The silence arrived too late...
I turn my face toward the time, to my days of
6:45 p.m.
7. Crystalsomber
Look around me and find my desillusion
like the dog that plays with a worm,
and forgets his unfaithful destiny.
From my hand emerges the horror of what's possible,
all oxide is to the iron
as the crystal to the somber.
The remembrance is the breath that darkens the crystal,
all difuse and superflous.
To think in her is to keep her too much in mind:
The depth of her eyes charms upon opening the door
of the dark room and only the green remains.
In the distance I see emanate the last sigh
that hits the cliff until destroy it while the albatross
undertakes the flight to his death.
In the immensity lays what is possible,
there the sight gets lost in the infinite...
and at the end nothing.
I have the infinite in me,
in the second that I suspended my life
in the crystalsomber.
8. Ethernous
Why do we believe that the suicide's denial of the life,
it is not by any chance the aproximation of the ether?
If the ether-nity does not exist, it's then the suicide denial of the life:
ether-no.
Denial of the ether: Nemesis Ocvlta.
Denial of the nous: the ether.
Opposite of a same mass, one justice, and the other vengeance.
Without difference the hermaphroditic Nemesis
whose faces confuse the human crisis,
drives mad to the human; we make one by contrary,
"do you come down from the deep sky
or do you emerge from the abyss,
Beauty?"
Where does life reside, perhaps in the death?
The eternity is the most categorical stupidity,
denies life: which is the hateful obstinacy to find a sense after life?
The death is the simplest thing we will have, the actions are forgotten quickly,
death is not?
9. The Complex: Pro(to)thesis
I think about the cranium that is within me,
and the prothesis included in IT...
The echo drips in an iron vessel:
metronome of madness.
The beauty returns with the moderation of the feline,
and the face with the worst of the impossible:
all the forgotten ones pull out with glances
the only silence that remains.
From the drop only the sound falls
and the vessel breaks with the universe that is one and of crystal...
All the reality is overflowed and the water is the curse
of the child beaten by the hands of his genesis,
and begins the uncertainty in some red lips...
"Once again..."
Everything in life is a "once again":
the addiction.
(Seven seconds of silence... one more... I return in me)
One proto-thesis is built and dendrites are destroyed...
The noise of the door corrupts the intimacy...
Once again... Once again...
10. Kaosmos
From the plain hangs a reality chunk.
Everything is unattainable while dead;
the desire corrupts the death,
seduces it and transforms it into power.
Behind me the fear betrays me
(...from the sky the thunder emerges
like caterpillar of his cocoon...).
And in the further cliffs waits the image to be sight.
(Return) November is a decade.
(The sound falls upward and crosses with the drop
revoking the all the is one and of crystal).
Strange is the silence as the foreigner to the immobility...
The interstice between my ribs awaits a possible stab:
"All and now..." wanted the father, opening her legs
and she as a bitch lubricating to the order of the instinct.
(Millions attack to the one and turn him imperfect and vital... foreigner son).
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