Cripple Bastards / Regurgitate 7″

release date:

2002

LINE-UP:

Giulio the Bastard – vocals
Fulvio Hatebox – guitar
Schintu the Wretched – bass
Al Mazzotti – drums

Label: E.U.91 Serbian League

TRACKLIST:

Inside out

INTRODUCING THE PERFECT HANDBOOK TO SELF-DEFAMATION
Inside out of your corpse
emotions won’t change
another dull rose wastes its thorns
let me ill-treat my casual vehicle of lust
young dead meat here to regenerate cum.
Queues of dazed slaves claim their weekly dose
– INSIDE OUT , INSIDE OUT
Who ends to lead the game / who does the supine whore today
– INSIDE OUT , INSIDE OUT
We made it a convenience, grew & spread a psychosis
– INSIDE OUT , INSIDE OUT
Anesthetic has been injected / beasts look resigned and emptied
– INSIDE OUT

Inside out of your corpse
no-one can show us what’s better or worse
compassion and dignity, shall I give a shit
or just train my metabolism to this steroid-fueled society
Buxxx in advance / make room to the next cock
– INSIDE OUT , INSIDE OUT
you’re a mouth to be shut, never worth of being heard
– INSIDE OUT , INSIDE OUT
me. on the route to erase feelings that no longer fit
– INSIDE OUT , INSIDE OUT
you. just bend your head, turn my savings into white hot drops
– INSIDE OUT

P.S.: 27 YEAR OLD. ADDICTED TO PROSTITUTION
A DOUBLE EDGED FALL INTO ETHICAL PERDITION
Can’t you see, I have yer cunt printed on my face.
I’m fucked and gone / lost like the shittiest junkie
in his suicide mission to Planet Dope.
If you want something to meditate about,
wonder how and why did I come to all this.
Like sperm under water when it curdles,
in cholesterol-clots runs this magic virus of frustration
I feel it inside my veins: think of blood slowing down
to a jam-like consistency. Heavier.
Can’t you see… in this squallid micro-infinite paradise of opportunism
where all humans are motive of disillusion,
you women play the unlucky role of…
*** cash converters ***
Any complaints? Kick my face and let’s see who’s fucking who.

X-Factors of infidelity

synchronizing our days with dimensions of falsity
a steel plate growing deep inside, tombstone of our conscience
as we deviously learn to betray –
convert our consistency into alibis,
alibis that recant every trace of sensibility.
TODAY MELANCHOLY HIDES
THE “X” ASSHOLE WE ARE USED TO PERFORM
TODAY MELANCHOLY HIDES
THE INFINITE FACES OF SHAME.
On probation….
Lie infiltration….
From guilt-sensation
To self-depreciation
thinking of you under hip-blows of the worst enemies
any % of pride in my ego decays
it’s been easier to bend me givin’ me a view behind a door
than punching my head hours & hours with a metallic bar.
TODAY MELANCHOLY HIDES
A CASTLE OF DETAILS
TODAY MELANCHOLY HIDES
ANOTHER NOTCH IN THE PAIN-CORTEX

When immunities fall

A NEW ISSUE IN THE “NEVER MENTIONED” SERIES
(only few statements from this is what GTB actually sings)
Drop by drop you used to sedate me – from a distance
an unconsciously perfect method
those were days when I was dying w/o leaving any trace
in the hands of a WasteDisposalFirm authorized to format my sharpeness..
all the requirements to carry out the biopsy of my shroud
..I had an identity in my tenacity, in holding on to my feelings
in remembering the oldest flashes of light – discussions, glances
and from then on I became your blackboard
let’s write “FUCKED” on it
go on, hang it in the closet of a past to be crushed.
Someone else shared an experience of inflicted mutilation
but passively.. and in a few moments.
ATTACKING IMMUNITIES
TO SHATTER THE FOUNDATIONS:
THE IMPROVISED TACTICS OF THOSE
WHO LIVE ON OTHER PEOPLE’S MOODS
DANCING AN ETERNAL TANGO ON THE HEART
–> INSTEAD OF HEELS, KITCHEN KNIVES.
Drop by drop staring at the density mixing with the water
it’s the serum that puts every intention of reaction up against the wall.
Let me share in my defeat, humiliate me with details
remind me that at 30 some people have aged better than me
modernize my paranoia – glue me to a mobile phone
where your signs of disheartenment always come too late
deprive me of all grace, hang me to the noose of apathy and inertia
redeem this talent that in your barreness you were never able to cultivate.
It’s the sadism of those who live to take revenge on the others
of shocks too radical to be faced up to backwards.
YOU ARE IN A WAITING ROOM LEADING TO A GHOST PLATFORM.
ME – THE ONLY PASSENGER, RESIGNED TO WAITING IN VAIN.
A crooked tree, crippled by the lightnings of pain….
you wish – on the edge of drying out.
WAR, drop by drop back in the bottle
war of ethics, of eternally persecuted people, war of nerves
war to gain continuity, to regain self-esteem
not to live in tiredness.
It’s a rustle of dry bones shaken by the desert wind
or maybe just an old skin abandoned somewhere
and that I won’t look for.
WAR, feeding on war
letting you know that you can’t touch this land
that every invasion implies a martyrdrom of your fellow men
necessary war, war against habits
not to live in tiredness.
No money and no politics, no ideals but one goal
the extasy of contentment, the love of nuisances
pointing everything against everyone…
YOU TRIED TO AFFLICT ME – NOW LEARN HOW TO HIDE.

The Mushroom Diarrhoea

I cross the mountains, I plane
I let myself glide over the breeze
slowly, grazing the woods – and you’ll let me go
I jump down the stairwell, but the fall is soft
then I run away, free, untouchable
protected by spores.
Back to the parallel floor I’m a psychosomatic prey
the more I think negative the more my life fades
here on the shittiest train or queued up in some gloomy office
drugged by sex or TV serials –
bored by the umpteenth useless chat
just to see her once more under my balls.
Watch me as I suffocate in these old trivial thoughts
subjected to human heaviness, absorbed by this halo of social failure.
Drowning among the crowd I feel an impulse of death
though sadly aware that it’s me the one getting progressively fucked.
Another bolivian guerrilla
piling up corpses of rich drug-dealers’ wives
reduced to pieces by my unstoppable machete
..a private apocalypse of rapes and blood.
Then serbian freedom-fighter torturing a yankee pilot
fallen with his “invisible” bomber right on my Orthodox Church
Back to the parallel floor I’m a psychosomatic prey
as paranoias increase the spores die away
here on the shittiest train or queued up in some gloomy office
drugged by sex or TV serials –
bored by the umpteenth useless chat
just to see her once more under my balls.
Watch me as I suffocate in these old trivial thoughts
subjected to human heaviness, absorbed by this halo of social failure.
Drowning among the crowd I feel an impulse of death
though sadly aware that it’s me the one getting progressively fucked.
PEOPLE’S EXTINCTION COMES TRUE
ONLY IN A NON-SYNCHRONIZED PLANET
THAT ROAMS IN THE UNIVERSE,
THE UNIVERSE BEHIND MY EYES.

Rak ne prestaje

zdrav ja te mrzim – moja svetla nece jos dugo blistati
RAK NE PRESTAJE
tvoja navika, tvoj karakter su povecali moj bol
RAK NE PRESTAJE
…al’ mozda ce se vratiti – ZA TEBE!
PS: proud to attack your morals with a song in Serbian,
with the hope that someday cancer will reach
all those who approved and enjoyed the suffering of my land.
Per l’Italia:
SEI SANO E IO TI ODIO – LA MIA LUCE NON BRILLERÀ PIÙ PER MOLTO
IL CANCRO NON PASSA
LE TUE ABITUDINI, IL TUO PESO – HANNO AGGRAVATO IL MIO MALE
IL CANCRO NON PASSA
…MA FORSE TORNERÀ, PER TE!