Split w/Stick and Poke

Like fox and mink, once freed from their cages,
promises of new worlds glint from their backs
taking free steps as Sabaté did, through
riverbasins and pyrenees pines

From Lacandon jungle to Rojava
echoes the barking of Athens‘ streetdogs
and becomes a voice of the outcasts
who fight hand and paw alike

Just like on that november day
way back, when the whaling ships sank
glints on the water reflect
our desire to break off chains

don’t ask how to face our shallow, disposable existence,
how to summon the courage to fight your own decadence
there’s inspiration present everywhere around you
and what really matters is what you choose to do

you can bite the hand that feeds poison and shit,
be the spanner in the gears that grinds them to a halt
let the power abusers taste the anxiety they bring
and glints of freedom will shine from your eyes too

Before me stands a tower – a giant of concrete and steel
erected by slave labor, decorated by tusks of the extinct
all that’s left of the carcass of this world are dead flies
and a greedy maw nibbling on the corpses

“The way is shut.
It was made by those who are Dead.
And the Dead keep it.
The way is shut.”

so high on freedom we choose our flavor of decline
to ease the deafening alienation on a night out
collapse is pending for the artificial earth
already torn, sliced, packed and sold

“The way is shut.
It was made by those who are Dead.
And the Dead keep it.
Until time comes…
The way is shut.”

their collective conscience is a dead weight anyway
let prejudice decide how low can they go

I would love to see those idiots closing borders left and right
on the other side of fence, standing helpless
with nary a few scraps gathered before war broke loose
having gone through hell just to hear there’s no place left

Closing the gates before those in need
It’s perplexing how one can forget so easily
1968 apparently happened a long time ago
for our nation of former exiles

living in anxiety and fear, where to go and how?
Going through hell on both land and sea
just to wind up on a not-so-welcoming shore
if you’re not lucky, only waves will wash over your dreams
mass graves right on our doorsteps
people leaving their homes and former lives to get away from war
only to be subject to another mistreatment, rape, violation of their basic rights
just to die at the sea or be turned away by a bunch of stupid fucking beer-bellied rednecks…

you can’t choose your place of birth
but you can choose your place to live
so welcome

freedom only earns its name
when it carries the weight
of responsibility and consequences

effort is what counts, not the outcome
to make you feel you really matter
when the torch is soaked and ready
do you have what it takes to set it on fire?

freedom only earns its name
when it carries the weight
of responsibility and consequences

And when you stand at the foot of the hills,
the beacons have been lit, what say you?

hearts of the cities, sterilized, dehumanized
shrines to consumerism, houses becoming vacant
office cubicles, concrete cages, glass monsters
future sure looks shiny, now how do I get out?

hearts of the cities, sterilized, dehumanized (with skyrocketing rents)
shrines to consumerism, houses becoming vacant (while homeless people sleep outside)
office cubicles, concrete cages, glass monsters (let social centers take their place)
future sure looks shiny, now how do I get out? (and into a squat?)

lungs of the cities need their air
and streets need their voice to be heard
nothing’s impossible, even rocks can fly
so why couldn’t dead houses live again?

So mend the mouldered beams again
and let’s instill fear in those who let them rot

Timing is the key to success – shedding of skins
chafe on the masses – shedding of skins
let them choke on the remains to forget
crumbling structures get a new facade and everyone forgets
put on a good show and don’t worry, they’ll forget
slogans for the sake of slogans, redoing the past they already forgot

show the eyes what they need to see to forget
take the ears for a ride as well, to forget
bless the masses and rejoice in a feast to forget
for a few crumbs and fucked up lives they’ll forget

the higher the pedestal, the more people will it fool
the more it reminds you of your place,
your own worthlessness tailored for you,
your own place and a role to live out
might be lucky and earn the keys to your shackles
victory arches over the killing fields, whose victory again?
Monuments and pyramids – these are no burial chambers
they’re here for you to window-shop on awe and despair

History decorates only the winners, not the dead of both sides
for the record – they’re people just like you
unlike, however, the tycoons who’d sooner starve the poor
than feed them even the scraps from under the table

when they make disasters come from the right place at the right time,
you’ll never even want what little freedom they condescendingly gave you
all gets lost, traded in for make-believe safety

timing is the key
shedding of skins