release date
1 May 1996
LINE-UP:
Giulio the Bastard – vocals, lyrics
Alberto The Crippler – Guitar
Eduardo "o" Brazil – bass
Michele Hoffman – drums
Recorded in 1995 at Acqualuce Studios, Alpignano/Torino, sound engineer: Marco Milanesio
> LP on Ecocentric Rec., E.R. # 141, released in 1996, 1500 copies made //CD on E.U.'91 Produzioni (E.U.015), 3500 copies made // MC on Dwie Strony Medalu, no cat. # mentioned, released in 1999, 500 (?) copies //
> the LP came in a gatefold cover and had a A3 band-poster enclosed, the CD had 16 page booklet, the MC had a huge printed cover with lyrics both in English and Polish...
Your Lies In Check
- 1. Being ripped off
- 2. Without a shadow of justice
- 3. Prejudices & walls
- 4. Images of war / Images of pain
- 5. Imposed mortification
- 6. Prospettive limitate
- 7. Intelligence means...
- 8. Disagreeable selections
- 9. Caught in your silence
- 10. Prisons
- 11. Irenic
- 12. September, 18th 1993
- 13. A dispetto della discrezione
- 14. Watching through my chaos
- 15. Newscast slave
- 16. Round table
- 17. Italia di merda
- 18. The outside world
- 19. My mind invades
- 20. Danas je dan ze lijecine
- 21. More frustations
- 22. Stimmung
- 23. Ghiacciaio
- 24. What I thought
- 25. Negative fractures
- 26. Ratings
- 27. Paranoiac
- 28. Frightened / Neglected
- 29. 1974
- 30. Milicija die!!
- 31. Walk away
- 32. Nichilismo ampliato
- 33. Vital dreams
- 34. Blue penguins
- 35. Bond of enmity
- 36. Ragman
- 37. Windows
- 38. Rending aphtous fevers
- 39. Bane
- 40. Living monuments
- 41. War spoils
- 42. We can work it out
- 43. Self-justice Punks
- 44. Incorporated grave
- 45. D.S.S.
- 46. Sexis society ... must destroy it!
- 47. The last shipwrecked
- 48. Intransigent simpathy
- 49. Polizia, una razza da estinguere
- 50. Cormorant
- 51. Life in general
- 52. Hydrophobic web
- 53. Padroni
- 54. Useful / Useless
- 55. More restrictions. Why?
- 56. Miniaturized Eden
- 57. Something wrong
- 58. 21st Century schizoid man
- 59. Devozioni?
- 60. Nothing on earth
- 61. Invito alla riservatezza
- 62. Come é falso dio
- 63. Radije volim...
- 64. S.L.U.T.S.
- 65. Grimcorpses
- 66. Offensive death
- 67. My serenity
- 68. Dealing with a pressing problem
- 69. Necrospore
YOUR LIES IN CHECK
(introductive statement)
Blood on a draughtboard, your king about to collapse under my furious fist... Too many years left as food for indifference, children grown with humilations and brutalization therapies, already men destined to vent reactions on themseves. Structures and structures... burn eyes - bar hopes. Waste products... they self-destruct, as if to avenge for the emptiness inside. Yesterday I was a surrogate, not a man. A surrogate lost in the labyrinth of too many institutions. An absorbed echo, not a voice. I've learnt to watch you, to go through compulsions. I've learnt to eat your shit... to calculate your moves. I've learnt to sit on the other side of the table, to exhaust your resources. Yesterday I was a pawn... I was a pawn in a game, a slave in a factory, a cross in a cemetery, a fix in a vein, a minor role in your play. Yesterday a pawn in a game. Today a butcher, and a winner... finally pleased - eyes on my blade disfiguring your smile wiping out corruption, injustices, oppressive hierarchies. Scanning your lies I found insecurities. Scanning your lies I recognized my condition. Scanning your lies I attacked your weak spots. Scanning your lies I got your defeat.
With no shadow of doubt a milestone in italian Grind/Hardcore and an important release also if seen from an international view. Over 5000 copies sold if you sum up the LP + CD + MC versions around, and more to come in the future. A proof of this album's notoriety in the scene is the many successful shows all around Europe and tracks like "Italia di merda", "Prospettive limitate" + "Stimmung" becoming hymns, expecially in countries like Czech Republic. And 90% of the songs covered on "Falafel Grind" (tribute to CB) are taken from this. "Your lies in check" was the perfect link between CB's extreme Grindcore experience and the strong influence coming from '80s italian Punk/Hardcore. 69 tracks that left a trace in the scene. This was a sort of "dream to come true" for GTB and Alberto the Crippler... and it was backed by an enormous strain. The drummer Michele Hoffman was about to leave the band so it wasn't that easy to get him for rehearsing. The bass-player Eduardo (from Mina Gerais, Brasil) was working non-stop in Torino and had no time for coming to Asti. The 5 months prior the beginning of the recordings saw GTB and ATC sharing their free time between Torino - teaching the songs to Eduardo (which didn't know any of them yet), and Asti - revising the drum parts with Michele. It would take too much to explain how this worked out but it looked like a Rocky getting trained for an impossible match story, sometimes we were about to give up since it looked almost impossible to keep all parts together. Michele and Eduardo met themselves 3-4 times in life, just to let you understand how this worked. By the way, E.U.'91 did the CD version - coming with a 16 page booklet. The CD sold over 3000 copies and it's going to be re-released by CAH Records/USA. The gatefold LP version came out on Ecocentric Records, while the MC was done by a Polish label. A must, backed by passion and faith.
A filthy presence obstructing my veins,
the fanatic exaltation of a negative feeling.
I love to hate, I hate your love.
...and I can't feel affection for people like you.
Consumed verbal roads, projected through our dead lands,
your thoughts - drowned in my tears. A sad premonition.
I love to hate, I hate your love.
...and I can't feel affection for people like you.
Your love is opportunistic, precarious, untruthful.
My hate is stable, irrepressible, aggressive.
I love to hate, I hate your love.
...and I can't feel affection for people like you.
Yesterday I sat on this ground, waiting for a reconciliatory look.
I waited... in the hope of seeing it.
(But my optimistic enthusiasm was broken off...)
Without a shadow of justice.
When "someone" will call down his revenge,
upon these grey, rotting walls...
(...your innocent world will break down)
I'm waiting, in the hope of seeing him.
Without a shadow of justice.
People are walls...
walls symbolizing ignorance and prejudices;
radically separated from us - neglecting our pain.
Dishonesty and lies are everywhere...
fantastic, inevitable standards subliminally introduced
in every kind of human relationship.
People are walls... walls trapping our freedom.
Prejudices are their weapons
and we are immobilized targets.
We, a weak/frangible minority
walking on rotten roots.
We, the collapsing cages,
surrounded by arrows pointed at our hearts.
Prejudices and walls.
Fierce eyes, raising affliction.
Prejudices and walls.
A nest incubating my death.
[COMMENTARY ON A WINTER DAY IN VUKOVAR. 1992
CHILDREN PLAYING UNDER THE SNOW]
The bomb has completed its flight
and now it's exploding among innocent children...
FACES TWISTED WITH FEAR...
There's no time to realize
what has caused this immense pain,
RED ON WHITE, THE METAPHOR IS CLEAR...
Images of war / Images of pain.
Images of war / Images of pain.
[SOMETHING MORE TO ADD]:
"The game has been the same for centuries;
players change, masters change, weapons develop,
but the result is always the same - murder.
There's nothing progressive, nothing good,
just suffering, fear and pain.
On every side victims...
here from communism to nationalism,
there from democracy to leftists or nazis,
rightists or stalinists, capitalists etc. etc...
It's all the same - the only thing that changes is the iconography.
Killers became heroes, heroes became kings,
liars became lawyers, real men became traitors and cowards.
What an irony." (Taken from B.Z.R.'s Split LP with Nula)
The eternal wall, the populated solitude.
Imposed mortification - Imposed mortification.
Selected method to win my attitudes.
Tu, porco egoista
incastrato nella noia dei tuoi piccoli valori,
ingrassato dal privilegio di essere schiavo,
preferisci esser scannato piuttosto che reagire.
E non pensi che qualcuno abbia diritto a vivere,
lontano dagli sporchi pregiudizi
di un infimo "proletario" merdoso come te.
Come lo vedi il tuo futuro??
Come lo vedi il tuo futuro??
É sempre rose e fiori per un inutile codardo
marcire dietro il ciclo sistematico
di una catena di montaggio?
Vivi per difendere un massacratissimo stipendio.
Muori con alle spalle il vuoto più completo.
Ignorance deleted interesting forms of rebellion.
But on the other side "strong" minds mangled our existences.
We can't refuse it, we have to reach a sort of mental balance
which can give us the security to use our own intelligence
without damaging our world.
[COMMENTARY]:
A cross between perfection and disgrace - intelligence;
the only hand driving our fates, the only presence marking our lives.
Like a double edged knife,
glittering on one side and bloodstained on the other...
Development and positive culture
in eternal contrast with lies, cruelties, profit and deadly power.
Choose your own progress-line.
[COMMENTARY]:
Frantic crowds of suit and tie idiots,
and the sickening threat of being like them,
trapped into their aseptic models.
"Earnestness"
- something I can't call freedom... too rigid.
"Ratiocination"
...but where's a smile among those upset screens,
always standing on the same old picture: money.
Disagreeable selections:
- you die in comfortable emptiness /
- I live my tragic oddness, alone but free.
The following passage is a sort of monologue written by somebody who's not here anymore. This is neither a text nor a poem; it's just a sequence of feelings and emotions dropped on paper in wild confusion and mental shock...
"To suffer an injustice...
The ring breaks, it's corroded by the acidity of time,
your life's a castle of cards in the midst of a storm.
Once again... hate is the only friend left to embrace.
Sad to see you explode, vomiting bitter tears,
and look at you... arms ruined with a blade,
blood dripping onto a defeated shadow,
furrows opening up in flesh...
They'll never be as deep as the ones you have inside.
Nice to see you hope, build visual paradoxes,
so far from those around you, so near to the one inside you.
A shadow of regret... but what's left of those days?
Blood on your thoughts, for all the times you cried.
Caught in your silence, among millions people,
too many lives - too many problems...
They have a brain.... but no time to use it.
So... no-one could approve,
no-one should approve,
no-one could approve, no-one could..." HE'S GONE.
[SOME SENTENCES USED IN THE SONG]:
No-one should approve.
Believing in your lies - HERE SOMETHING MUST BE CHANGED.
The smell of women's cries - IT'S HAPPENING TO ME AGAIN.
As my heart tends to approve... MY MIND STANDS, FUCKIN' RIP-OFF!!
Prisons: the cause of these hysterical masses.
Everyday we personally live jobberies, disagreements.
Everyday we have to face common prejudices.
Everyday we have to suffer wrongs....
Imprisoned in factories, offices, schools
wasting our time like animals in captivity.
Indulgent curiosity, unintentional ability...
Irenic
Acceptable paradoxes, telepathic sex...
Irenic
Booth of sadness, answer to all my problems...
Irenic
"All my life you've told me nothing but lies!"
18th... September... 1993... 18th... September... 1993...
18th... September... 1993... 18th... September... 1993...
WHO'S GOT THE 50 DM ON CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR?? (x4)
(Then no lyrics, just vocalized hatred and insults)
[COMMENTARY]:
Your nervous eyes in search of love -
always discontented, melancholic, bewildered.
Few minutes of pleasure and then... goodbye.
Your compensation is narrow, the effort inevitably pathetic.
September, 18th 1993. The visionary freedom of a filthy stupid bitch.
Today charismatic heroine, tomorrow unwanted trash.
Considerando di strapparti le braccia.
It's deadly and empty,
fogbanks on a motorway..
..where my life is a car without lights and brakes
driven at full-speed by a confused mind.
Watching through my chaos.
Inactivity is my endless masturbation,
too many things to do - unable to give'em a right order
and choose where to start.
I'm a child - lost in my universe,
a mixture of creative ideas and frustrating schemes.
Watching through my chaos.
Gospel truth - Political profit based on lies.
Newscast slave - Misinformation buyer.
Catch this message, continue my silent war.
There's a round table against something
that can hurt their stupid world.
It's time to put our cards on that table....
Anni di tristezza, cazzate in televisione
Divertimenti imposti... discoteca e stadio
Il tuo misero sfogo nella totale sottomissione.
Italia di merda (x3)
L'Italia del perbenismo, l'Italia dei leccaculo
é la patria dei coglioni che non usano il cervello
han bisogno di qualcuno che li anneghi nello schifo.
Italia di merda (x3)
Muoio nel mio disgusto, sommerso dal vostro marciume.
Soffoco in una strada affollata di apatia,
intossicato dalla merda che ingoiate tutti i giorni.
Italia di merda (x3)
Dreaming behind a cold, insensible pane.
Suffering beyond the outside world.
Making plans, burning flags --
my life against the outside world.
I think I'm dying for a right cause,
I think we're dying for a right cause.
The Outside World.
Finding myself the connection,
the perfect key to interpret your lies.
My mind invades
Inventing an own private philosophy,
my brain selects nourishing thoughts.
My mind invades
A rabid dog breaks his chains - MY MIND INVADES
A rabid dog breaks his chains - MY MIND INVADES
[COMMENTARY]:
"Sunday" is your freedom.
They concede you a miserable truce,
take it as the sweetest present life can give.
6 days a week of monotony, humiliations, sheer submission.
How can you accept it??
How can you fit the rules of a game
where "money" is the perpetual winner
and you're just a worthless pawn arranged on its draughtboard...??
Profit, career, social climb.
Send your freedom to the gallows,
take the rope and fuck it again.
Slaves chained to assembly lines, offices,
bent over desks, glued to TV screens...
"Sunday" will be their compensation,
horses waiting for their sugarplums.
Sunday tradition is their happiness.
Sunday you can be lazy, wake up late,
watch your fave programs, fuck your partner to the bone...
ignoring that while you do it there's someone standing on your back,
ready to stick 6 fingers in your stripped ass.
[SOMETHING MORE TO ADD]:
"Give me a moment's respite, embrace this sweet-uncertain chest,
make me feel... at least something - Stain me with sex, deep down...
No fun. No pleasure. I need nothing but normality."
Work burns out. Repetitive actions whitered a lovely mind, fragmentary comforts dug a deep grave. And now...
"Zajebat lijudi je znacenije tvog zivota."
More frustrations - Cells...agape...with...no...drugs.
More frustrations - Eyes...bloodstayned...with...no...tears.
More frustrations - Perversions...satisfied...with...no...sex.
More frustrations - More...frustrations...less...shit.
MY FRUSTRATIONS... make me think.
MY FRUSTRATIONS... teach me how to live.
Who has decided this way?
I can't scream ..>>.. stuck-throat.
A natural image - a stabbing pain in my sad soul.
Two separated warm hands, then a look behind a pane,
then a wet presence on my face,
then the silence of my narcotic world ...
Who has decided this way?
I can't sleep ... I'm so alone.
I visualize your face - and I think that my life's gone.
Firstly I see your tearful eyes then the barred doors of a train
I don't think about suicide - 'coz I know, we'll meet again.
IN THIS WORLD CAN'T EXIST A GOD.
SPIRITUAL MASOCHISM SLIT THIS THROAT.
IT'S A SORT OF SELF-EXCITEMENT ...
A MACABRE REPERTORY UNDER MY MODEST CLOTHES.
I think about all those days
brushing against my old cicatrixes
I try to go back ... to conventionality.
But I think it's so unfair ... I can't give a fuck.
A bitter shit to swallow, living in costant hate.
Tristezza di chi affronta direttamente ...
l'insensibilità di una rete di comunicazioni.
Far away from me, perhaps this is the best solution.
Drown in the abyss of your mediocrities,
return to life as a loser - smile lazily at your "rebel" past...
Disappear into the crowd that not long ago you hated and accused,
but which, after all, isn't so different from you...
You're deeply attracted,
a new existence falling into same old routines.
Foreseeable actions, you're nothing without them.
IT DOESN'T RUN IN YOUR VEINS /
CAN'T BE ASSIMILATED BY YOUR MIND.
[COMMENTARY]:
Lacking enthusiasm and individuality,
feel the usefulness of "being against",
disappear in a non-protesting crowd.
Punk seen as a childish fashion. Museum-freak.
- PEASANTS
1% (to complete the eclipse)
- AUTHORITY?
Cops!
- MY LAST HOURS
Limpid water... my last hours.
- FALLING WISH
Take me away.
- ASTI PUNKS
Protest's not a mode.
- PREACH AND LET DIE
(Instrumental)
- MISUNDERSTANDING OF "EQUALITY"
Misunderstanding of "equality":
blind conformity + reaffirmation of solid social disparities.
Same rights doesn't mean same lives, same traditions,
same dresses, same faces, same skin-colour, same food, same shit...
Same rights doesn't mean same masters to serve.
My life can't close itself in a hole,
can't vanish in the sad waiting list of those who have lost before they've begun,
of those who haven't gone beyond the gates of an imposed normality.
Forced hate, I wish I had never met you.
Tears of boredom, snapped nerves, instant horror.
I see my body move from one cage to another,
I spend my days cultivating apathy, disinterest, suffocated violence.
I feel offended and inoffensive, a headstone stuck in cement - a broken candle.
Hanged in silence, the disappointment is reciprocal.
Kicks in the teeth, everyday, explode in your houses, in your schools, in your streets...
A INCREASE OF "CULTURE" - AN ABANDONMENT OF FEELINGS.
[COMMENTARY]:
Creativity against passive dependence,
diversion against imposed standardization.
Give the right value to individuality...
don't fall in the nullity of a speechless crowd.
LOOKING FOR ALTERNATIVES, INVENTING ONE'S LIFE, THIS MEANS LIVING.
You told me that I'm a paranoiac
'cos I'm a person who lives on stressing joints,
'cos there's nothing I love in this fuckin' world,
so you told that my brain is psychologically insane...
Open your ears fuckin' asshole,
I'd rather choose the way of an insane paranoiac
than follow a plastic society again and again...
MY HATE AGAINST CONFORMITY IS AN UNAFFECTED FEELING!!
I'd rather choose the way of an insane paranoiac...
I'd rather choose the way of an insane paranoiac...
You can't leave your triumphant enemies,
you try to fight them with the handle of a knife.
Resigned. Your regression.
Exhibitionist ego. Your infantilism.
La mia generazione annega nel falso benessere
costruito su un sistema di consenso;
a gente come me non é concessa la parola,
ci sarà sempre qualcuno che penserà per noi,
agirà per noi, camperà su di noi.
La mia generazione - ragazzi morti...
La mia generazione - ...morti per vivere bene.
[COMMENTO]:
La mia generazione é come un albero dalle radici morte.
Viviamo la nostra sconfitta passivamente, senza lacrime.
Lontani dal rischio di seguire le nostre convinzioni;
Essere noi stessi? NO. Non ce l'ha mai chiesto nessuno.
Sarebbe troppo scomodo, troppo doloroso.
Milicija die!!
Every year, in Yugoslavia,
too many victims are abused by the "authority".
Why must people work everyday,
and see this legalized violence in the streets?
Walk away... to a suffered world.
(vocalized hatred)
Walk away... Do you think to be sincere?
Do you need it??
(vocalized hatred)
After days made up of months, you walked away from me.
After days made up of months, you walked away from me.
After days made up of months, you walked away from me.
[COMMENTARY]:
Left behind in the abyss of despair
too far from your phallic reality,
where ideas and spontaneity
are replaced by cold carnal contacts.
Il rimorso d'un sorriso spinto fino alle lacrime....
anzi, di lacrime spinte fino a un sorriso.
[COMMENTO]:
Era l'ultima cosa che dovevi imparare,
scansare il tuo sguardo dal mio,
non incontrare più quegli occhi
così capaci di guardare dietro ai tuoi.
Ora sei perfetta. Tutti sono contenti di te.
E ti stai realizzando.
Peccato che non esista più fantasia nella tua testa.
Consumare, eliminare, scopare-venire, riposare...
...facile ritrarre la tua vita.
Facile intuire che anche i sogni hanno abbandonato le tue camere.
TI ODIO. No, non provo una semplice antipatia nei tuoi confronti:
il mio é odio brutale, omicida.
É ACIDO SOLFORICO SPUTATO SUI TUOI OCCHI.
Ho paura di te. Penso che un giorno sarai tra di loro.
Vedo la mia identità dipendere dai tuoi interessi,
vedo le tue decisioni trasformarsi in miei obblighi,
perché così vorrà una maggioranza.
Mi desideri affamato, la bocca incollata al tuo culo,
o a tavola, davanti a un piatto pieno di merda.
Dovrò mangiarlo per farti star meglio.
Mi desideri vuoto come i tuoi metodi di convinzione,
o insonne, lontano da sogni per darti la mia vita.
Dovrò sgozzarmi per farti ragionare.
MEGLIO ESSER FATTI DI CARNE MORTA CHE DI PLASTICA.
[SOMETHING MORE TO ADD]:
1989, the story of a social climber,
a girl candidate in a fascist list.
Behind the facts, a background of mental hybernation, prejudices and insecurities.
Being there just to see us living on her wastes.
"I can't feel simple antipathy. My hate is brutal, homicidal.
SULPHURIC ACID SPIT ON HER EYES."
In the streets, in my house, everywhere... WHY??
Die, fuckin' cops!
Die, fuckin' cops!!!
Suffered characters engraved in my nerves.
Don't ask me the reason... verify:
my conflict goes on, I assert my rights.
I assert my rights - Disconnection.
I assert my rights - Separation.
I assert my rights - Violation.
I assert my rights - Usurpation.
[COMMENTARY]:
Violent culture flogging my ideas,
middle-class arrogance screwing my life.
I can't resign, my conflict goes on.
I assert my rights,
sunk in their shit... clinged to my freedom.
[COMMENTARY]:
Born in your shit, I can't enjoy the colors of grace and beauty,
I can't feel anything but this uniform-unfailing sense of nausea...
"Her eyes... so lovely,
that you're askin' yourself how can
tears................................
Her body... so perfect,
that you're askin' yourself how can
shit................................."
"Her brain... so empty,
that I'm askin' myself how can
thoughts.................................
Her life... so senseless,
that I'm askin' myself how boring should be.........................."
The colors of grace and beauty won't fit in my picture;
diping my brush in your shit I'll paint a life of kicks,
intimidations, self-relegation.
I'm a ragman and I love my putrid clothes
weared out by thousands generations.
You're something worst... corrupted perfection;
the static divinity of perfumed trash.
Fucking transparence of an imposition.
[COMMENTARY]:
Four aphthas on my laringeal tissue,
brown flowers decorating my throat.
I can't talk, I can't breathe,
I CAN'T DIE... EVEN IF I'M WISHING IT.
I can't smile, I can't move,
I CAN'T DIE... EVEN IF I'M WISHING IT.
I can't drink, I can't sleep,
I CAN'T DIE... EVEN IF I'M WISHING IT.
I can't eat, I can't think.
Paralysed by pain, eyes confined to always the same, always the same wall.
Discovering the limits of my endurance,
a mountain of hate exploding inside a half inch diameter fever.
(The song itself has no words, only growls and vocalized pain)
Punish me ...
Suppressed remonstrances, a sorrowful sunset,
the extinction of my sectarian infestation.
Empty squares, slivers of vitreous collisions
left on this afflicted ground.
Channeled fear controlled by mechanized steps,
the word "LAW" becomes a synonim of "DEATH".
Punish me.
Ulcerative deletion... Petrochemical tears.
Concentration of rebel spontaneity
absorbed in the accusatory crowd.
War spoils.
Talking eyes, epicentre of torpor. Rain on an impatient web.
Your hate sleeps in the incorporated grave of your contempt,
its desire of being in action sleeps on the definiteness of your silence.
Break the seals, don't bury your light.
.
Double Scented Shit!!!
Double scented shit, everywhere.
When your cancer comes from food....
Double Scented Shit!!!
Double scented shit, everywhere.
When your cancer comes from food....
[COMMENTARY]:
You try to consolidate people's infedelities...
sex seen as a dope-type recreation, an inalienable diversion..
..or a technique to exalt the nearly always trampled female ego.
"She feels reborn..." ...in the guise of a fucking bitch.
A parallel form of humiliation, in fact (this time) self-humiliation.
And your pseudo-pornographic freedom won't stand up.
Next door.
Your profit's results spread like wildfire...
The last uncontaminated feelings... rr thrown away,
spit down, straight down to your packed-out W.C.
Love, friendship, respect, sincerity... rr out of fashion.
SOMETIMES I NEED SOMEONE TO EMBRACE,
NOT NECESSARILY SOMEONE TO FUCK.
Next door.
Your shitty sexist propaganda...
sponsored by falsity, exhibitionism and mental backwardness.
But now... now I can feel the strongest will joining my rage,
the will of smashing this shit down, the will of voicing my dissent
against your ignorance and mediocrity,
the will of screamin' till I see blood pouring from my mouth...:
Must destroy this sexist society!!
Must destroy it!!!!!!!!!!!
The remembrance of the human race
confines his freedom everywhere.
Forced smile. Internal delays. Concentrate of lies.
Your intransigent simpathy to obtain my conformity.
Your intransigent simpathy to change my opinions.
[COMMENTARY]:
Your eyes - Repugnant triangles scratching my face.
Intransigent - Promulgator of a well-mannered mentality,
too mediocre for being assimilated.
PEOPLE SMILING, INSIDE DISGUSTED.
HATING ME, THE INFECTED.
Per quello che valgono le vostre azioni...
cicatrici sul cranio - ossa spezzate.
Non posso contare sulla vostra "difesa"
perché solo violenza é ciò che create.
Polizia, polizia...
razza da estinguere, razza da estinguere!!
Your scared eyes closed by humans' brutality,
but my sadness can't cause a resurrection. NO!!!
Victims of society, victims of society,
you continue to pay - suffering without talk.
Existing to recycle superiors' will/thoughts.
Life in general.
[COMMENTARY]:
Invisible chip of emotions projected in the human sphere,
uncertainty or sadness are the only reactions of a fanciful mind;
Sense of perversion, aggressive hate...
stagnant feelings entangled in sinews.
My brain's wrapped by hydrophobic webs.
Your plastic existence will conduct it near the nervous breakdown.
My conformity would mean complete annihilation, mental blackout.
Suicide left as the ultimate act of freedom, escape. But no, not for you.
WHERE PEOPLE SEE A PROMISING FUTURE
I CAN ONLY DISCERN AN ENDLESS ABYSS.
Una vita di lavoro, senza soddisfazioni
in mezzo a sporche macchine che distruggono il tuo corpo.
Morte ai padroni - Ladri e bastardi.
Morte ai padroni - Ladri e bastardi.
35 anni di furto legalizzato
che bruciano i tuoi sogni, rendendoti impotente.
Morte allo Stato - Mafioso e bugiardo.
Morte allo Stato - Mafioso e bugiardo.
Morte!!!
[COMMENTARY]:
Masters and slaves representing social normality, like always.
Work to fatten a piggish boss
and starve your hopes, your will to live.
Year by year, age by age... minds reduced to static circuits.
WHERE MONEY IS THE ONLY VOICE,
PASSIVITY THE ONLY BLOOD
AND PLASTIC THE ONLY HAPPINESS.
12/5/1989... You're accused of "rolling".
I know, my noise can't debase your life.
But your vectors won't change my introspections.
A dark threat assaulting my life again,
time has come to wear a uniform and obey...
It's the worst phase of their systemized repression,
It's a psychophisical indoctrination...
a dark threat insulting my rights again.
- Carried away, eyes filled with pain,
what have I done for having so much to pay?
after 21 years of corrosive disdain...
more restrictions, why?
More restrictions. Why?
- Carried away, eyes filled with pain,
stuck in the grip of your military chain,
death from the hands of another system's prey...
..It's a calculated doom.
"The world of heterosexuals is a sick and boring life!"
Miniaturized Eden:
post-working gratification.
Unchained perversion imprisoned in a silent bedroom.
Miniaturized Eden:
the short triumph of our screwed working-classes.
Variations in my headache.
Fists in what they call "soul".
Something wrong with those shitheads.
Una vita di devozioni é quello che ti aspetti...
non troverai nient'altro che merda sui tuoi denti.
Fammi lottare, lasciami stare, vattene via bastardo!
Una vita di devozioni é una vita di merda...
Senza lotta nessuno avrá un futuro!!
[COMMENTARY]:
God is an imposition to justify
the insecurities of those who feel most secure,
a lurid insult to human intelligence,
a shameful parody that has been going on for thousands years.
THERE'S NOTHING ON EARTH,
NOTHING THAT COMES FROM HIS (ITS) HANDS.
God is an empty room, without walls or windows,
an abyss of illusions dug by people's ignorance.
God means waste, thousands of beings massacred,
mountains of money thrown away or stolen,
tons of bricks used to build his damned monuments...
THERE'S NOTHING ON EARTH,
NOTHING THAT COMES FROM HIS (ITS) HANDS.
Or perhaps, yes, there is something...
There's pain, intolerance, violence.
The dishonesty of those who represent him.
The only waters in which I can see his image reflected,
are soaked with blood, fear, hatred.
Laboriosa, un grosso sbaglio... puntuale.
Non posso fare a meno di parlare così.
[COMMENTO]:
Preferisco star solo piuttosto che con qualcuno che mente,
vive per fregare costantemente tutti.
Preferisco star solo, non far massa con la vostra isteria.
Preferisco star solo piuttosto che mercificare il mio "essere io",
diventare come voi una parte di niente.
Preferisco star solo, negativo,
chiuso a ogni contatto.
[COMMENTARY/TRANSLATION]:
I'd rather be alone than with someone who lies,
lives to rip everybody off all the time.
I'd rather be alone, not mingle with your hysteria.
I'd rather be alone than sell my "being myself",
than becoming like you - part of nothing.
I'd rather be alone, negative,
shut off to every contact.
South Leads Us To Shit.
(Then no words, just vocalized hatred)
[COMMENTARY]:
I'm not a Northern League dick,
so... sharpen your wits, solve the rebus.
this one has no lyrics/words. GTB screams carelessly.
Voice can be an instrument too. "Grimcorpses" is the name of our earlier band, back in 1987, when we were 13/15 years old and we used to rehearse in a dusty room at the top of a gristmill.
This song belongs to those tragic/peaceful days.
Fights/plans ... bursts into my room.
Trapped in this bed - "health reasons"
... 21 wasted years.
Problems - suspended.
... my friends forgot me.
Life - sad game that can't be won.
----------Unrestrainable----------
A raving world at my back,
my mind bursts into cold tears.
Another day ended in pain.
This is a routine that will go on year after year.
When I am enveloped by darkness
my eyes continue to see...
there's a wall in front of me,
a wall that obstructs all my plans.
When the silence absorbs my room
my mind is deep in thought...
my protest died but my hate survived
and it'll prevent me from falling asleep.
MY SERENITY IS ABOUT TO DIE.
MY SERENITY WON'T STEP ASIDE.
A bled, faded woman dressed in black,
a barrier of cement, your cadaveric paper-smiles.
We can't be on overtime.
We can't be on overtime.
Baseless problems are giving more and more discontent;
it's time to present your rightist/nationalist ideology
as "a simple solution to the deep economic crisis"...
I look upon myself:
"We can't unleash our words". WHY?
I look upon myself:
"We can't overstep the mark settled by our exasperation". WHY?
Silent normality - fertile land for nazism and racism.
Indifferent mentality - hiding bigotry and systemised prejudice.
Consent reality - dawn of violence and oppression.
We can't be on overtime.
We can't be on overtime.
Cellule imbevute di odio.