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The Jester Race | paroles / lyrics

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album  : The Jester Race
groupe : In Flames
sortie   : 1995

+ paroles In Flames

01- Moonshield
02- The Jester's Dance
03- Artifacts Of The Black Rain
04- Graveland
05- Lord Hypnos
06- Dead Eternity
07- The Jester Race
08- December Flower
09- Wayfaerer
10- Dead God In Me

Moonshield

Tired of dull ages, I walk the same ground,
collecting the tragedies still
Hollow ambitions in a hollow mind
carried my cross to the hill

And how I lust for the dance and the fire
deep of the nectarine sunset to drink
spill me the wind and its fire
to steal of the colors - I'm the moonshield

Shattered hope became my guide
and grief and pain my friends
a brother pact in a blood-ink penned
declare my silent end

Naked an dying under worlds of silent stone
reaching for the moonshield that once upon us shone

The Jester's Dance

[ Instrumental ]

Artifacts Of The Black Rain

Stood there leaning to the city moon,
casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
the black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked

Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
with their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world

He cried for night / but night could not come
so, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away
and fed the empty galleries
with the artifacts of the black rain
sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile

He made the footprints a part of his heart
to rouse a sacred confrontation

Stood there carving on the monument to lies
digging of the Earth, making friends with the soil
as the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs
he disappears into her cold, icy womb

Graveland

Mankind - proud conqueror and king
swings its flag of primal glory to the winds
Titans of the power-myth that failed
Neanderthal hunger for the flesh of war so frail

So weak, so hollow-minded
the primat flock responds
the jester race submits

For each day of war is a failure for man,
enslaved in her mordial genes
Illusions bleed from their fetid cores,
bent to their rotten extremes

We, the plague of Terra Firma,
nature's grand and last mistake
plant the poisoned seed of cancer,
set the severed fruits awake
Burning like frozen relics
in god's archaic graveland

Burn the visionaire
Kill the ideaologies
Mankind must die

The doves and the angels return to their graves
with flames on their pestilent wings
while mushroom-clouds haunt their virginwhite skies
to rape their utopian dreams

Living the last days of evolution's end
from the nest of humanity, the graveland vultures rend

Lord Hypnos

I lie in your soother arms, lord Hypnos
your garmet alive with your song
I lie in your soother arms, lord Hypnos

Steep the spiral to your far abode,
in the wake of slumber, on visions I rode
and fell like history through the chasm of ages
into the charged, forbidden zones

How I have searched
through a million worlds and faces
yet unaware, I have not found
my own true face, traceless and profound

So, find me in these grandiose halls
where long ago summers eternally fall
and tune the strings of truthful longing
to the frozen music of gods

Hypnagonia's lucid horizons
play with the yearning I've quelled
as I strike towrads the Pantheon
and what therein is held

Dead Eternity

I bid you welcome to my world
They call me existence
You have just entered through the gate
to your journey towards eternity
This part I control
In the beginning you'll fear nothing
As I climb beside you
Time will be your master in this laborious part of
human subsistence
This part I control
Black clouds embraces your soul
Slowly passing through repeating lacunas of anguish
When time takes your life
I wil transfer you into the bare grip of thinking tranquillity
Voices frilling the emptiness of the dead floating
Seamless across the surface into chilling stillness
Nothing can help you now

You'll never be along again
You'll never die again
You'll never be born again
You'll forever be, stuck here in eternity

The Jester Race

Rush faster on the one-way lane
the answers so silent

Rusty gods in their machine-minds armours
grind our souls in the millstone of time
the "deathbed harvest" is dead man's banquet
of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine

And we go..our steps so silent
And we go..our blooded trace;
The Jester Race

Calling our to the gathered masses;
their answers so silent

And we go..

Embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age
that speak of silence and silence alone

Offering the tokens, the reliced idols
to the heirs of the newly raped ground
inferior even to the transparent winds
lesser in motion and sound

And we go..

There is no trace of me
in their altered blueprints of life

Gaia impaled on their horns and lances
to fumes from her body give case
as the throng of blind mind savour the scent,
dream-dead from prosaic and hate

Sunwind strokes the electroheart,
ignition roars through the corridors,
stream launching the binary vessels

Vanities in extreme formations
ride into tormorrow's rigid futile scripts
of our dying jester race

December Flower


Towards the rich archaic heavens; towards the lack diorama
you are the artist and the texture
that plays with the mantle of the Earth

When the bleakest of powders
lie rooted to the starched stones
and roots that feed the peaking trees
embrace the sleeping shores

Archaic pearls of sleep and death
the voice of December losing its breath
and the floweryard of whit and grey is haunted

White as the down of flaking snow,
the heroic emblems of life

Green is the color of my death
as the winter-guise I swoop towards teh ground
Green is the landscape of my sorrowfilled passing

We are In Flames,
towards the dead archaic heavens
We are the mantle and the texture
the alters the mantle of the Earth

Wayfaerer

[ Instrumental ]

Dead God In Me

To slit the grinning wounds
from childhood's seven moons
the palette stained with the ejaculated passions
(of forbidden, hedonistic colors...)

Strike from omnipotence; all-seer, all-deemer
and haunt my severed country with your
dripping, secret games

You pick the unripe lilies
deflored and peeled the bleeding petals
made known to me
the grainy stains, the crimson lotus
of the Black-Ash Inheritance,
the semen feed of gods and masters
The worms still in me,
still a part of me,
racing out from leaking rooms,
swoop from broken lungs to block the transmission
to put an end to the nomad years

Father
you are the
dead god in me