Avalanche

Tracks:

1. Drifts
2. Spin, Wheel of Fortune!
3. Unmake The World
4. Iberia Submerged
5. Avalanche
6. In The Arms of Fever
7. Forever
8. The Right Spark (Blessed 3)
9. Stormy Days (Eye of Splendour)
10. Dying Yet
11. Opium
12. Venus Foam

1. Drifts

Instrumental

2. Spin, Wheel of Fortune!

Tell me, is it possible that all time
in the future will not be better?
Who manipulates the hope
for self-gain?
And I forbid the prestidigitation
of the strange illusions
of the forces which surround us.
I offer no resistance,
how many million years did it take
to form these heartbeats we are on?
At which point do the incredible
and the exact coincide?
The experience is evidence
and the questions are my fortress.
The day-to-day isn't real,
at least I wish it wasn't.

Spin, wheel of fortune!
Spin, wheel of fortune!
Spin, spin, wheel of fortune!

Against untimely furies
that turn us into monsters.

Who puts us face to face
with the tick-tock and chance?
Close to the loophole of the impossible,
the unpredictable and providential.
The future lasts too long
and time will be a fashion.
Nothing is like it was,
at least I wish it wasn't.

3. Unmake The World

Start just because
and finish don't know when
the blue gives me sky
and the iris the changes.
The heavenly bodies are no further away
than the men I deal with.
I repeat the other voices
which feel like my own
and they enclose my body
with murmur of rough seas.

I told you not to look back
because the sky doesn't belong to you,
and we have to start slowly
to unmake the world.

The breath of the earth
and its peaceful calm,
the shadow of twilight
that is a shaking hand.
The music reveals secrets
which are now inside me.
In the end and after all
we are not so different.
An oasis in the desert
where patience is left.

I told you not to look back
because the sky doesn't belong to you,
and we have to start slowly
to unmake the world.

Put me out of reach
of a universal yawn.
We'll see each other in exile
or in a prison cell.
Put me out of the comfort
of my personal history.
I am a predatory bird:
look at my wings!

I told you not to look back
because the sky doesn't belong to you,
and we have to start slowly
to unmake the world.

4. Iberia Submerged

I awoke with tightly clenched fists
and the insolent rage of my youth
Ingenuousness absolves us from our mistakes
and allows everyone to contribute what they know.
They made you bread and there we consumed you,
vengeance is a useless piece of junk.

This is my place
and this is my thorn.
Iberia submerged
in these clandestine rumours.

You formulate questions with a seed of an answer
and I know your way by heart.
I do not believe in the rationality
and the proprietary embrace, without an exit.
Now that you suffer from insomnia
you would like to die from "siesta".

This is my place
and this is my thorn.
Iberia submerged
in these clandestine rumours.

5. Avalanche

Madness never had a teacher
for those who row without a perpetual course.
Taking any other direction
so that we don't tame the horses of exaltation.
Routine shadows the pupils of the eyes
which are closed to the joys which are left to us.

Avalanche

We need the precious time which you abandon
without knowing what the fuck to do with it.
We are the food
and someone out there is truly hungry.
There is no return to consciousness
after the delirium of stormy love.

Avalanche

There are still things to do
and without movement you brace yourself.
There are still things to say
and you don't speak.

Madness never had a teacher
for those who row without a perpetual course.
Death will be the ornament
which I will place upon the gift of my life.
The moon exercises strange influences
which contradict themselves and there's no one to decipher.

Avalanche

6. In The Arms of Fever

With the arms of fever
that still embrace my forehead
I've had a better thought
and I'll untie the snakes of vanity.
To listen is paradise
and fear is a thief
from whom I keep no regrets
and the pain is a rehersal of death.

And in the film of a drop
my wings get broken.
And amongst other things
they don't write with illuminating ink.

Paradise becomes hell
and then complains.
And who is doing
anything about it?

Born in ruins
of my tastebuds
the nonsense of chaos
defeated me with words of praise.

And in the film of a drop
my wings get broken.
And amongst other things
they don't write with illuminating ink.

Paradise becomes hell
and then complains.
And who is doing
anything about it?

7. Forever

You don't have to impress me
nor follow my way.
I'm going to alight here
on the edge of the present
where the man chokes
writes his last will in black chilli.
The grief of being with you
is the alchemy of my poison.

Defeat is not an option and
there are no excuses:
Forever seems like a long time to me.

Forever,
nothing is forever ...

The influence of the anger
and the impulse of the tongue
I don't have all my life
and yet there are still boxes which hold surprises.

Defeat is not an option and
there are no excuses:
Forever seems like a long time to me.

I will come with a bitter mouth
and a defeated heart ...

Forever,
nothing is forever ...

8. The Right Spark (Blessed 3)

The words were wasps
and the streets were like dunes
and I'm expecting your arrival.
In a coffin I guard your touch and a crown,
with your hair tangled
wishing to find an infinite rainbow.
My hands that are still bones
and your belly that tastes like bread,
the cathedral is your body.
Your were summer and a thousand torments,
me a lion who smiles at the walls
which I've repainted in the same colour.

I can't distinguish between kisses and putting down roots.
I can't distinguish between the complex and the simple.
And you are now on my list of promises to forget
everything burns if you use the right spark.

The fire that was sometimes your own,
but the ashes were always
another's white sperm sliding through the spine.
We are already much older and more honest,
but so what if we look upon the "lagoon"
that is called eternal absence.

I can't distinguish between kisses and putting down roots.
I can't distinguish between the complex and the simple.
And you are now on my list of promises to forget
everything burns if you use the right spark.

9. Stormy Days (Eye of Splendour)

The innocent get lynched
to the rhythm of calumny.
In the odyssey of rancour,
the great inquisitor
and the shrouded man,
the shrouded man.
In the sure, sure shelter
of loneliness
the crown is achieved
after victory.
That will not be the story
of my generation.
Pleasure is an abyss,
the orgasm a relief
against the farce
farce of control
of older people.

As if that moment
could be the first
of the rest of our lives.
Stormy days,
eve of splendour.

When the future is improbable
and to think is not enough
and when that which in theory
cannot be,
has happened ...

As if that moment
could be the first
of the rest of our lives.
Stormy days,
eve of splendour.

10. Dying Yet

The smallest thing is a mystery
and the sacred so simple.
The weeping of the nopales
behind the hussar of death.
when the coyote knocked on your door,
howling unwelcome notes,
the shadows snatched away
the dreams of the just.

You can't shut away
the sun under a bell.
You can't delay
the appointed hour.

One of these days
could be your last battle
and we, the larvae, grow up,
and we are not able to fit through the lock.
The heart going through a tunnel,
dark as a wreck,
dying yet and not after
searching without a remedy.

You can't shut away
the sun under a bell.
You can't delay
the appointed hour.

The labyrinth of the dream
where the demons
of memory are lost.

11. Opium

Opium is the flower of laziness,
until I become only existence.
The smoke of milk, like lowing cattle,
slowly spreading the flavour of the universe.
The one who does nothing fears nothing
and from the terrestrial you will know the heavens
a dark entitlement to what is delightful,
will be a dream or a lie.

The most trivial things become fundamental,
eliminating patterns of chance.
As if the wind is stirred without encouragement
listen to my song's disclosures.

Opium is the flower of laziness,
until I become only existence.
The smoke of milk, like lowing cattle,
slowly spreading the flavour of the universe.
Huddled in a lair
like a besieged animal,
worn out by tiredness
and the weight of my eyelids.

The most trivial things become fundamental,
eliminating patterns of chance.
As if the wind is stirred without encouragement
listen to my song's disclosures.

Splinters of air,
indecipherable arcanum.
In my garden of delights
I belong to the breeze.
I inhale the fog
that floats in the Ganges,
the oil of incense
will be our consolation.

12. Venus Foam

Off guard, close to my lips
harvest mouth, carnation breasts,
curves of honey, corner of voices
and knives of saliva.
I swam naked on your swell
now that the boat is sinking
and only you can save me.
And you doubt my doubts
of my rituals, of my ruins.
Between always and never
I swam naked on your swell
the foam of venus, the slender fruits
that wanted to milk
the dowser searching for water

Fiction is and will be
my own reality.

Artists of sin
I learned by heart
the geography of your
sugar and steel centre.
Venus foam,
I swam naked on your swell
immaterial perfume
shelter and beginning
the vertical howling
as an answer to your prodigies.

Fiction is and will be
my own reality.

With the unworn disguise
of diving into the ephemeral
fiction is and will be
the only reality.