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You sit on top of the mountain, the garden dwarf keeps you in prison,
you should make a decision, but you look elsewhere,
you don't want to see the hatchet come.
What is? Do you want to fall? Take flight?
What makes the throat tight? What claws your heart?
"Okay," they want to hear, everything is supposed to be alright
you're supposed to be nice, they want you nodding,
friendly smiling (while) facing the precipice
and you look elsewhere, sitting up on the mountain,
the garden gnome keeps you in prison.
Come to a decision! Don't you wanna end your prison?
Come to a decision! Do you wanna end your prison?
You don't say what you want, because you don't want anymore.
Your words hollow and banal. Singsang of words.
You should speak of intuition, of dying,
of trust and hope. Of love. Of strategies
and what really concerns you:
the isolation, forgiving and thanking.
Come to a decision! Don't you wanna end your prison?
Come to a decision! Do you wanna end your prison?
Worddead, because there are no words available,
all are already used, already installed,
stumble towards Hell,
because all through the dirt, burned by the sun
because everything has already been said, right down to the coffin,
because your body is a suitcase that you unpack or not
and good-talking, good-thinking keeps nothing away.
Come to a decision! Don't you wanna end your prison?
Come to a decision! Do you wanna end your prison?
You have climbed an angel, climbed wings.
"Can you understand me, world?" your eyes ask,
embarrassed to ask for understanding, for seeing you.
"Do you want to understand me, world?" And look away again,
turn away, understand the one who does not look.
Nothing is more secret than suffering.
No one sees how you run out of air, thrown out,
storm wreck on the beach.
Empty, emptied. Deserted. Devoid of hope.
No, hope rises, picks you up, dented,
you sit up. You raise yourself.
and you go between looks that see nothing.
full to the brim you are, overflowing with words, full of beans.
Your word has woken up, regained, no longer contained, it can't be restrained.
holds it's ground, your readiness to whitewash gone
you hold nothing back
The unsaid words rise, thunderstorms pattering on the land.
You're beating them out, spitting them Out, you let off steam,
you vent your anger, your grievances, you air your despair,
Lust.
No prison, no more distress.
you give vent to your feelings, give way to your dreams
Wonderfully imperfect, undeterred honest is YOUR word!
[lyrics by Augenmerk]
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Squalling for Time
10:39
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One for Bill
02:43
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Dream Time
10:34
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Bill Boethius & Dali's Car London, UK
"The Dali of guitar noise".
Free improv,
Cinematic Sounds:
Strange Blues:
Cosmic Jazz,
Poetry settings,
Bill Boethius & Dali's Car recommends:
Invocation of the witch wood
by Robert Furtkamp
Courage and knowledge combined
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DRONING EARTH VOL73
by droningearthrecords
Catalyst
go to albumIf you like Subterranean Stories, you may also like:
A collection of tracks from the singer and multi-disciplinary artist's 111 collaboration series, featuring KMRU, Laraaji, and others.
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Delights Of My Life
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Ricardo Dias Gomes x Domenico Lancellotti
by Ricardo Dias Gomes
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featured on Bandcamp Radio Apr 23, 2024
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