Arcadia
Summon all the nomads
Those from the concrete fields
Those who's house travels on their heads
Those who's soul shambles by their steps
Those who can't help live on the rails
Summon the nomads.
Summon all the outlaws
That kill fascists with guitars
That play the game to forget their bloody name
That work the dirt, the land with their own bare hands
Just to dig the trace of their glory on the past
Summon 'em lot.
Summon all the mad ones
Those who eternally blast into veins of stars
Those who exists within themselves and the mental straitjackets
Those who write their lives deep in scars upon their scalp
Those who lay naked imprisoned by their blankets
those who weep suffocated by their own voices
Summon the mad ones.
Summon them all
Tell them our pail is full
Tell them a comet confessed their age
Tell we wait by the rye, we've hung the catcher to the willow
and we are welcoming the fall.
Tell them the booze is exploding into senseless words
That treat to reveal the meaning secrets of life
Tell them we are missing the thoughts
And all what we forgot in the name of art
Tell them we call from shore to shore
From West to East, from world to world
From land, to land.
Tell them the prophets have abandoned us, nude in their beds
They've run away with the sunset and their sperms
Tell them we've been running, ruining our destiny
In the name of a Christ never crucified
Never lived, never died.
Tell them we are the man of a god
Useless, meaningless; and thank the Lord above:
helpless.
Tell them we've dried our bodies from his blood
And we no longer owe any drop from the holy ghost
Tell them they better run late
for they are an inch away, from passing themselves
Summon them
To the land where the number is none and the colour
Is the shadow of the sun
To the land past the winds that shall drown their souls
To the edge of morning and night
And sun shadow and moon light
Summon them by the edge of the clock
by the shores of the unholy doors
by the veils of the Albion
awaiting and undone.
Summon all the nomads
Summon all the outlaws
Summon all the mad ones
Summon them all, before you summon yourself
To the land where everything is finally
called by its name
Love
Luc.
Those from the concrete fields
Those who's house travels on their heads
Those who's soul shambles by their steps
Those who can't help live on the rails
Summon the nomads.
Summon all the outlaws
That kill fascists with guitars
That play the game to forget their bloody name
That work the dirt, the land with their own bare hands
Just to dig the trace of their glory on the past
Summon 'em lot.
Summon all the mad ones
Those who eternally blast into veins of stars
Those who exists within themselves and the mental straitjackets
Those who write their lives deep in scars upon their scalp
Those who lay naked imprisoned by their blankets
those who weep suffocated by their own voices
Summon the mad ones.
Summon them all
Tell them our pail is full
Tell them a comet confessed their age
Tell we wait by the rye, we've hung the catcher to the willow
and we are welcoming the fall.
Tell them the booze is exploding into senseless words
That treat to reveal the meaning secrets of life
Tell them we are missing the thoughts
And all what we forgot in the name of art
Tell them we call from shore to shore
From West to East, from world to world
From land, to land.
Tell them the prophets have abandoned us, nude in their beds
They've run away with the sunset and their sperms
Tell them we've been running, ruining our destiny
In the name of a Christ never crucified
Never lived, never died.
Tell them we are the man of a god
Useless, meaningless; and thank the Lord above:
helpless.
Tell them we've dried our bodies from his blood
And we no longer owe any drop from the holy ghost
Tell them they better run late
for they are an inch away, from passing themselves
Summon them
To the land where the number is none and the colour
Is the shadow of the sun
To the land past the winds that shall drown their souls
To the edge of morning and night
And sun shadow and moon light
Summon them by the edge of the clock
by the shores of the unholy doors
by the veils of the Albion
awaiting and undone.
Summon all the nomads
Summon all the outlaws
Summon all the mad ones
Summon them all, before you summon yourself
To the land where everything is finally
called by its name
Love
Luc.