Текст песни Speak Not of the Laudanum Quandary (Ashenspire) с переводом

The vanity of the opportunist, and narcissism on an imperial scale,

breeding spite and despotic aches, finding form in entitlement

To steep in bloody euphoria the despicable canvas, bleached whiter than death

Solitary molecules wander from receptor to receptor, Come, spiteful opiate!

Invoking bliss as brittle as rapture; like the harlequin balanced between his

stilts and the noose

The sovereign tongue contorts and molests; its dance as meretricious as the

poppy! A foul lecher drooling bile on these windows! On this pristine filth

We’ve made our bed, and lord knows, we won’t be telling the truth in it

A cobblestone chorus; with all the tenacity of oxygen bent double on phosphorus

The tearing of the robe, as the curtains in the temple

The stretching of the rope, as a sordid fundamental

«I let the flesh persist such that, in transient and passing stupor, I exist

«Speak not, child

Speak not

There’s an art to it

A prickling of every pore, each follicle an antenna, crackling static over cold

skin, vasoconstriction on every frequently flung out frequency, individuals all

lined up in sequence, elated and unabated, pulse and pulse again! Ah!

To plaster the walls with the bone dust, and to smear over the concrete with

bloody viscosity

All born in the gutter to gutter-borne orphans

All limbs and no legacy; All in this together? Hah! I’ll believe it,

I’ll let it grow like plaque — when my head zips up at the back

Down from the ballpoint comes a great new divide

Sintering these crystallites, we’re less catalyst and more cattle-eyes;

Two-faced phases falling, failing, flailing against the undertow,

in the pretence that they’re not just atoms in the cycle of reactant flow

And, as many are the flaxen locks rudely torn from the heads of children,

many are the pawns thrown without ceremony from this mortal board

The Queen moves unperturbed, but there’s a wanton amoral grip about her throat;

abhorrent and abundant, resplendent on the velvet

The papaver is germinating, not for want of soil, nor water

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