I could swear she is sitting across the room.
I could swear her eyes tell truth,
I could swear it's her,
I know it way too well believe:
I’m not obsessed,
not obsessed,
I am not obsessed.
Am not obsessed with her laugh, her teeth, her tongue, her spit.
The eyes, her smile, the eyes, her lies.
They take me away from the arms of reality
I falter again and it feels so wonderful.
Mother murder writes the truth,
bears words to fit her story,
continues to ignore me.
Mother murder writes the tale,
spins facts to weave her web around,
static drives away the sound.
Mercy mother, I've failed,
could not give up my grasp on her.
Mercy mother, I feel
my right to touch is now denied
Penance giver,
Above a king, the weaver.
Balance shaper,
Now come and destroy your maker.
Mother mercy right this wrong:
Give me bliss, leave me mindless.
An eastern gambit levels the board.
Mother murder makes us one,
one pawn near the other,
we will march along to her tune.
Mercy to no avail,
prayer left unanswered,
I sing to all the damned.
Mercy destined to fail,
animal eternal,
Wise man lost its will to speak.
Pinturas Negras is the band that ended the world.
Its written history has been pieced together from sources as
varied as the menu of a long gone Chinese restaurant or the obituary section of a 19th century English newspaper.
The music is heavy. The words follow suit, crafting a sound not unlike the stranger side of MTV2 from twenty years ago....more