1. |
Industrial Dreams
03:46
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Arrays of silver housing with endless miles of pipes
And vapor yearning to reach the air where you can expect it
White-and-red-striped towers that resemble a lighthouse
Yet no ship will reach this haven,
A haven that is home to no soul
Yet still heavy trains will wait
In line for the whistle to blow
To depart from their industrial dreams
Where they’d, they’d fall asleep
How much can a man’s hand contribute to lifestyle?
To what’s grown from line-productions and frantic possessions
Heartbreaking this lex vitae that hardly knew sunlight
LEDs with warmth for me in this landscape that is home to no-one
Let’s go for a walk through this Marxist fairytale
And watch the sunset where the smoke replaces clouds
Till the red, till the red, flashing sirens sing
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2. |
Dworzec
03:43
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Nieprzyjazd mój do miasta N.
odbył się punktualnie.
Zostałeś uprzedzony
niewysłanym listem.
Zdążyłeś nie przyjść
w przewidzianej porze.
Pociąg wjechał na peron trzeci.
Wysiadło dużo ludzi.
Uchodził w tłumie do wyjścia
brak mojej osoby.
Kilka kobiet zastąpiło mnie
pośpiesznie
w tym pośpiechu.
Do jednej podbiegł
ktoś nie znany mi,
ale ona rozpoznała go
natychmiast.
Oboje wymienili
nie nasz pocałunek,
podczas czego zginęła
nie moja walizka.
Dworzec w mieście N.
dobrze zdał egzamin
z istnienia obiektywnego.
poem by Wisława Szymborska
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3. |
Fog & Quicksand
05:10
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Through the roof with your rate
When my teeth hit the bait
Made my body greedy, my instincts prevail
Then my leaves were removed
From the window sill
What a polar night
Made me wither and quiver and die
What did I want if not too much?
What was my thinking if not out of touch?
That every second might fall back in track
From fog and the quicksand, your limb brings me back
What a filthy, scuttling insect now moves at your feet
Then it twitches so side-lined and hastily forgets
What it did wrong
Cause the mind is too weak when the heartbeat peaks
So the script stays the same
In its old form and frame
What did I want if not too much?
What was my thinking if not out of touch?
That every second might fall back in track
From fog and the quicksand, your limb brings me back
What you want, comes not from spite
And what you ask for aims not at fights
You’re not my rival, not my foe
The self-reproaches, for I withhold
Such a simple thing
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4. |
Comfort
04:35
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Your face rests untaggable of terms like boy or girl
Your body carries hues that deprive of parochial views
A presence that you know to twirl
Black paint blurs your features, you bleed for us to see
A child again by nighttime, and God shall bless their deeds
Violent, crippled love, it screams.
Where do you look for comfort?
When the breeders’ words hurt
Through the dirt of their own muddy world
Turn to me, turn to us
It’s walls that define our faces
We’re queens on a Tuesday night
We’re moths that seek out spaces
Granting eloquence to fight
A common place we know is right
Where do you look for comfort?
When the breeders’ words hurt
Through the dirt of their own muddy world
Turn to me, turn to us
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5. |
Another Life
04:52
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I picked my own brain,
Picked my own guilt
Oh, exposed to acid rain
Fueled, by your nitrogen
While applied lovingly,
I put forward cautiously:
Would it hurt to say a word?
Wouldn’t I have given you all?
You were living another life
You were living another life ...
I pulled my own teeth,
Climbed my own trees
Focus, I am not bestowed
Beliefs will have to do for now
While inclined to remedies
Was my heart not worth to keep?
Did I grow remote from you?
Wouldn’t I have given you all?
You were living another life
you were living another life ...
outro, poem by D. H. Lawrence
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself
A small bird will [fall]
frozen dead from a bough
Without ever having felt
sorry for itself
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Nansea Berlin, Germany
Nansea (ˈnænsi) is the musical moniker of Berlin-based musician Marek Polgesek. With their music, they create a queer indie/chamber pop sound that goes beyond the traditional singer-songwriter style, while paying tribute to gender nonconforming artists that inspire them. Their sound has been described as a ‘more whimsical Rufus Wainwright' and reminiscent of Thom Yorke and Sufjan Stevens. ... more
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