Story   (5'25'') 


     

Narrator  Wild talking :

 

The smoke has vanished away

Revealing the white remainings

Of the sound phantoms.

It sounds like a sorcery land.

All souls day !

Said the old sordid book.

The peasants terrent themselves

At the bottom of their lonely homes.

The woman and children hide in the swamps.

         
 

Listen, listen !

They come from the old age

 

Monsters :

 

This is the scream of the rage

The squeal of genius and dark power

The devil forces tower.

Dominated by temptation all to destroy,

We build and maintain

The world darkness

And the marshes.    

                                                 

 

Narrator Gothic singing :

 

God fears the cold

His son trembles on the cross

The hart off all things

Is drown in the chalice

Lost by our fathers

       
 

All souls day !

Said the old sordid book.

The land cannot call

His soul his own !

 

The land is abandoned

The Saints have forgotten their names

Where is the White King ?

 

 Widowed peasant :

 

Not in your bowl damned drunkard !         

 

Peasant with no faith :

 

Your bitchy wolvy mother

Broods the children of the devil.

 

Widowed peasant :

 

With the breath

Of your disappeared female !

 

Peasant with no faith :

 

Stop your  blurb

I blush for you !

(together) Let’s drink !