MP3 THCulture - Trance Noise Voice

20.00 pln

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    MP3 THCulture - Trance Noise Voice

    The digital version album THCulture - Trance Noise Voice in the form of MP3 files of the highest quality 320kb/s for download.

    recorded & mixed at: 7-14 V 2001 & 24-27 IX 2001 SPAART Studio
    engineered by: Jacek Młodochowski & THCulture & Dżabi, except track 9 "BPB" remixed by: Luke Sky
    produced by: THCulture
    published MC & CD by: Boofish Records


    Yogi - voice, guitars, djembe, didgeridoo, sample
    Joseh - bass
    Żurek - drums

    Additional musicians:
    Greg Crack - voice (BPB)
    Luke Sky - piano (BPB)



    i dance in trance all day
    let the stream of squandering flow over
    in a river with two beds
    hhe superficial is the answer to nothing
    what’s underground determines the rhythm of questions
    do you want to be fulfilled at the end of your life
    which has no value apart from funeral expenses
    you work for it for years
    irrevocable madness, late oblivion
    mind open to a bullet hole
    a channel of freedom, enslavement device
    the universe of the mind won’t stand Earth’s gravity
    all you would like is unattainable
    all the rest is compulsion, the compulsion of pain
    in pleasures weakening the natural feeling of being lost
    rescue in the face of inevitable death is living death
    you’ve found what you’ve eternally looked for
    the eternal and blindly closed road to nowhere
    why haven’t you got yourself together
    regardless of circumstances of oblivion
    impossibilities lead to the necessity
    costs of the advantage of body over mind to soul
    how deep can this mediocrity reach
    the cold of bones taking hold of the body
    repulsive... separated...


    cri... cri... critical state
    fi... fi... finally i die
    body, body’s burning me down
    there’s nothing else left
    one supreme
    in four persons
    on my deathbed i greet
    in every possible form
    first has only a face
    second only a brain
    third only a heart
    fourth which yields power has nothing
    first is only desire
    second devotion
    third compassion
    fourth which yields power feels nothing
    the fourth self which yields power over the elements
    has nothing
    the fourth self which yields power over the elements
    feels nothing


    still there are no people
    people are sleeping
    the whisper of the wind
    listen more carefully to 
    the green grass
    mowed it withers fast
    and only until evening
    the tree has its shadow
    man withers like the grass
    man so briefly can look at his shadow
    don’t wait any longer
    get up, get up and go
    freedom is coming
    freedom is coming
    it comes by every day
    every day
    don’t wait any more
    get up, get up and go
    man withers like the grass
    man so briefly can look at his shadow,
    new day, shadow, sunrise, new day
    shadow, shadow, night, starry night
    through its artery runs the pulse of the whisper
    unknown to anybody
    you’ll leave your shells
    and listen out
    but the voice will remain foreign for you
    so you’ll listen and go away
    maybe others will succeed it takes all sorts
    for now they’re sleeping... sleeping...


    people sleep at night it seems that during the day it’s not different
    good or bad it’s impossible to say
    anyway every time contact is hindered
    time flies away from you and you are still chasing and urging it 
    you don’t allow it to take a breath, you treat it brutally
    and time doesn’t like you, everything is a waste of time for you
    you feel like lying in the sun or take a boat trip
    or be with a woman but
    nothing doing, you can’t get away from work
    time always has to stand by you, time has to work
    time has to say something, although it’s silent
    time loves joy, time loves peace and a comfy mat
    you’re wasting your life to earn for time
    you’re wasting your life to earn for time
    born with all good time between sunrise and sundown
    between youth and old age
    i really don’t know what I would have to hurry into


    society of money dough works wonders
    what form of megalomania requires identification mania of you
    product or idea
    with every moment these days
    bigger and bigger desire is born is born bringing misfortune
    it’s all we can do more, want more
    want more and more much too much
    unbelievable and boundless
    the only unknown is the price you want to sell themselves for
    can’t you see the void of success sterility of achievement
    nothingness of human effort
    frightened in their enchanted twisted curse
    drink blood, eat money
    prostitutes of life that can’t pick up only one client
    they can’t pick only their selves up only their selves
    new man has arms and legs drinks blood eats money
    check if you are a fashionably attractive commodity
    do not feel... but abuse... dough works wonders


    please tell me why
    I am still alive
    in a black plastic bag
    I foster plague
    monotony and apathy
    a hundred faces on one
    whirls and swirls
    count on me in the death chamber


    war is sheer lunacy in a beautiful morning thousands of people
    stand in dug up holes in the ground – what for?
    imagination materialises the moment
    one hundred thousand killed imagine that
    imagine that they stand here opposite each other in rows
    one hundred thousand candles blown with one breath
    one hundred thousand minds
    memories... loves... sensations... worlds... universes...
    it doesn’t make me sick or terrified
    and the belief
    that there’s no justification for this hell
    bombs do not kill people it’s people who kill people
    when the war comes with its horror and cemeteries
    then you’ll realise that you could’ve done something
    then you’ll realise...
    famine, plague, slaughter their blood waves inside me
    I don’t speak to anyone nobody speaks to me


    in stony coffins in sarcophagus houses
    the silence of your loneliness the silence of your grave
    you forget about everything you can deceive thought
    word, action, creation, old age, yourself
    you are but you don’t know if you exist
    you have to be faithful and obedient
    bury yourself in a shelter and be blind
    you have to become mute and deaf
    and solid like never before
    in the morning, evening, day and night
    you have to carefully repeat the slogans in force
    and not to work out different ones
    it’s allowed to surrender, it’s allowed not to be different from others
    it’s allowed to fake it’s allowed to act against yourself
    and be proud that you are such and not other
    and that your world is such and not other
    terribly peacefully accept the void
    i’ll tell you nothing to console you


    i foster plague
    monotony and apathy

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