Scorpion Wind lyrics

LOVE LOVE LOVE ( EQUILIBRIUM)

The reprisals of the weak against the strong do not really come within
nature. They do from the moral point of view, but not the physical, since to
take these reprisals the weak man must employ forces he has not received
from nature. He must adopt a character that he has not been given. He must,
in a way, contstrain nature. But what does really come from the laws of this
wise mother is the harm unto the weak by the strong, since, to bring this
process to pass, the strong man makes use only the gift which he has
received from nature. He does not, like the weak, take on a character
different from his own. He merely utilizes the sole effects of that which
nature has endowed him. Therefore, everything resulting from that is
natural; his acts of oppression, violence, cruelty, tyranny, injustice: all
these diverse expressions of a character engraved in him by the hand of the
power which placed him in the world are therefore quite as simple and as
pure as the hand which guided him. And when he uses all of his rights to
oppress the weak, to plunder the weak, he is therefore doing the most
natural thing in the world. If our common mother had desired this equality
that the weak strive so hard to establish, if she had really wanted the
equitable division of property, why should she have created two classes, one
weak, the other strong? Has she not, with this distinction, given sufficient
proof that her intention was that it should apply to possessions as well as
bodily faculties? Does she not prove that her plan is for everything to be
on one side, and nothing on the other? And that precisely in order to arrive
at the equilibrium that is the sole basis of all our laws, for in order that
this equilibrium may exist in nature, it is not necessary that it be made to
establish it. Their equilibrium upsets that nature. What, in our eyes, seems
to us to go against it, is exactly that which, in hers, establishes it. And
for this reason, it is from this lack of balance, as we call it, that are
produced the crimes by which she establishes her order. The strong seize
everything; that is the lack of balance, from man's point of view. The weak
defend themselves and rob the strong; there you have the crimes which
establish the equilibrium necessary to nature Let us therefore not have any
scruples about what we can filch from the weak, for it is not we who are
committing a crime. It is the act of defense, or vengeance, performed by he
which has that character. By robbing the poor, dispossessing the orphan,
usurping the widow's inheritance, man is only making use of the rights he
has received from nature. The crime that consists in our profit from them,
the penniless wretch that nature offers unto our blows is the prey she
offers the vulture. If the strong appear to disturb her order by robbing
those beneath them, the weak reestablish it by robbing their superiors, and
both are serving nature.


PRESERVE THY LONELINESS


There is a way that seemeth right unto man
But the end thereof is death
There is another way

Preserve thy loneliness from all men; remain undisturbed by all except the
impression, free thyself from anything that could be foreign to thy being,
and direct thy conscience towards the solitary view by which thou bearest a
beast in thine soul as an object from which thine eyes never wander.
Complete isolation of soul brooks no imitation of creatures, no
self-humiliation, nor self-elevation, and strives to be neither below or
above, wanting only to rest in itself, reaching neither towards love nor
towards suffering. It does not consider it's equality, or inequality, with
other beings. It wants neither to be the one, nor the other. It wants only
to be at one with itself.

Preserver thy loneliness from all men.


IN UINO VERITAS


So won't someone pour me another martini to sip while Rome is afire? So
won't someone pour me another martini, and we'll toast the world's funeral
pyre.

I was born in a blizzard of bubbles, rising us towards the sun. Clock this
world up for the dead(?), and he said he'd rather have fun. I've been
drinking, and I've been thinking, and I think that I'll drink some more. So
here's to your health, and here's to crime, and here's to sex evermore.
We're men of the brain, and not cocaine. I treasure my pleasure and cherish
your pain. So won't someone pour me another martini to sip while Rome is
afire? Won't someone pour me another martini, and we'll toast the world's
funeral pyre.

So let's have another, another sherry, gin and vermouth, whisky sour,
highball, 7 and 7(?), midori martini, chardonnay, rum and coke, margaritas,
long island iced tea, cognac, daiquiris, bloody mary, [something] all
around, Jaegermeister, Irish whisky, keep them coming, keep the glasses
full.

To crime, here's mud in your eye, [something], chin-chin, [something],
[something], [something], Heilige, [something].


PARADISE OF PERFECTION


All men, inasmuch as they are not liberated from the bondage of time, follow
the downward path of history, whether they know it or not and whether they
like it or not. Few, indeed, thoroughly like it, even in our epoch, let
alone in happier ages, when people read less and thought more. Few follow it
unhesitatingly, without throwing at some time or other a sad glance towards
the distant lost paradise towards into which they know, in their deeper
consciousness, that they are never to peer; the paradise of perfection in
time within so remote that the earliest people of which we know remember it
as only a dream. Yet they follow their fate away; they obey their destiny.
That resigned submission to the terrible law of decay; that acceptance of
the bondage of time by creatures who dimly feel they could be free from it,
but who find it too hard to try to free themselves, who know beforehand that
they would never succeed, even if they did try, because at the bottom of
that incurable unhappiness of man the deplored again and again the Greek
tragedies, long before these were written. Man is unhappy because he knows,
because he feels, in general, that the world in which he lives, of which he
is a part, is not what it should be; not what is could be; not what, in
fact, it was at the dawn of time, before decay set in. He cannot
wholeheartedly accept the world as his, especially not accept the fact that
it is going from bad to worse (be glad). However much he may try to be a
realist, and snatch from destiny whatever he can, when he can, still an
invincible yearning for the better remains at the bottom of his heart; he
cannot, in general stomach the world as it is.

In heralding the most widespread massacre, I believe that war is preparing
mystical spheres for the apparition of great ideals. Where the charnel house
dissolves, joy will be born in from it; where the weight of mortality sinks
down, the soul's freedom will be uplifted. The greater the offering, the
greater will be the wonder and the miracle.


ROASTED CADAVER


I am the night that robs you of light
The night wind that chills to the bone
I am the cold stillness, the stars and the harshness
The darkness you wander alone
I am the sun that parches the desert
I am that desert where you meander forever
I am the heat that scorches your feet
As you collapse miles from the water
I am the vulture that feeds and feasts
On the flesh of your bloated cadaver
I am the rain that subdues the heat
Albeit for you I arrive somewhat late
But in time to wash the dust from your bones
And moisten the place you repose all alone
I am the breeze that scatters the leaves
The storm that turns towns upside down
I am the wind, the rain and the thunder
The furious torrent that rips all asunder
And tears what is dead, and that which is living
Without regard for what I'm taking or leaving



THE CRUELTY OF THE HEAVENS


In the night, the dead stood along the wall, and cried, "We would have
knowledge of God. Where is God? Is God dead?" God is not dead. Now, as ever,
he liveth. There is a God whom you know not, for mankind forgot it. We name
it by it's name: Abraxas. Abraxas standeth above the sun and above the
devil. It is improbable probability, unreal reality. Hard to know is the
deity of Abraxas; it's power is greatest because man perceiveth it not. From
the sun he draweth absolute good, from the Devil, infinite evil, but from
Abraxas: life. Abraxas is the sun and at the same time, the eternally
sucking gorge of the void. The power of Abraxas is twofold, but ye see it
not, because for your eyes the warring opposites of this power are
extinguished. What the Sun-god speaketh is life, what the Devil speaketh is
death, but Abraxas speaketh that of power, of the cursed word, which is life
and death at the same time. Abraxas speaketh of truth and lie, of good and
evil, of light and darkness; in the same word and in the same act. Wherefore
is Abraxas terrible? It is as splendid as the lion who [something] striketh
down it's victim. It is as beautiful as a day of spring(?). It is the
abundance which seeketh the union with emptiness. It is love and love's
murder. It is the saint, and [something] betrayer. It is the brightest light
of day and the darkest night of madness. God dwelleth behind the sun, the
Devil behind the night, but God bringeth forth out of light what the Devil
sucketh into the night. Abraxas is the world: it's becoming, and it's
passing. Upon every gift that cometh from the Sun-god, the Devil layeth his
curse. Everything that ye entreat from the Sun-god, ye getteth indeed from
the Devil. Everything that ye create with the Sun-god giveth effective power
to the Devil. What is terrible Abraxas? It is the delight of the earth, the
cruelty of the heavens. Before it, there is no question and no reply.


THERE IS NO MORE SLEEP


Yesterday, the living mourn the dead.
Today, the dead mourn the living.

There is no more sleep
There is no more truce
There is no more respite
March on
Toward the world's battle
March on
Now, as then
In wood and in mountain and in plain
On river and lake and sea
Let man daily invent his glory
And his death


SOME COLOSSUS


Know from henceforth that the kind of person who destiny calls: the ordinary
rules of life are reversed and become quite different. Good and evil are
transferred to another and higher plane, then virtues which might be
applauded in an ordinary person would in you become vices, simply because
they would only be the source of obstacles and ruin. While the great law of
the world is not to do this, or that, to avoid one thing, or pursue another:
it is to live. To enlarge and develop our most active and sublime qualities
in such a way that from any sphere we can always strive to reach another one
that is wider and more airy, more elevated. Do not forget that. Go straight
ahead. Simply do as you please insofar as it serves your interests. Leave
weakness and scruple to the petty minds and to the rabble of underlings.
There is only one consideration worthy of you: the elevation and greatness
of yourself.

I think that a decent man, a man who feels he has some soul, has now more
than ever the strict duty of falling back upon himself, and since he can't
save others, of striving for his own betterment. That is the essential task
in times like ours. Everything that has been lost by society does not
disappear, but takes refuge in individual lives. The mass is petty,
wretched, shameful, and repugnant. The isolated man can rise above these,
and just as in the ruins of Egypt, amidst heaps of rubble, broken and
unrecognizable fragments, walls that have collapsed or subsided and are
often difficult to repair, there will have survived some colossus, rusting
into the sky which, by it's very height, preserves an idea of the nobility
of the temple or town, now razed to the ground forever. So in the same way
these isolated men can help to preserve our conception of God's noblest and
finest creatures ought to be like.


THE PATH OF THE CROSS


Follow the path of the cross
To glory or to loss
One cross made of iron
One is made of wood
One leads to forever now
And one would if it could
Toward the cross of iron
Toward the cross of fire
Toward the sun within the soul
Into your heart's desire

Empires tumble and fall
Columns crumble and fall
Swords and candles almost last(?)
Stone and marble turns to dust
But the flame within the soul
Burns forever


NEVER


Never forgive, never forget
Never, never
Never forgive, never forget
Never, not ever

I once imagined the lie to be the ultimate enemy; an enemy of life and of
everything worthwhile in life; a pestilence that would sooner or later
corrupt all that is grand and noble in life; debasing truth and beauty in
equal measures; casting it's ugly shadow over everything. Now I realize that
truth and beauty and nobility are eternal; they cannot be debased by the
lie. They cannot be destroyed by the lie. They live forever. Only mankind
can be debased by the lie. Only mankind can be left by the light far far
afield; from truth, from beauty, from purity. And when man becomes
sufficiently debased, every eternal value shall pronounce judgment upon them
and shall act as their judge, and their jury, and their executioner. Now
I've learned to love the lie. I love the poison it spreads. I love the
weakness it engenders. I love the seeds of destruction it sows, and I love
the judgment it brings. The lie is not an enemy of truth; it is an ally of
truth. It prepares the way, it balances the books, and it makes clean the
slate.

Bring my enemies before me
And slay them

transcribed by Satya Palani,
with additions by Benito Vergara

                             -------------------

                               [long shadows]