Rising Terror

[lyrics from the CD “Our Childhood’s War”]

ΣΤΗ ΓΗ ΤΟΥ ΑΝΑΤΕΛΛΟΝΤΟΣ ΤΡΟΜΟΥ [ sti gi tou anatellontos tromou / in the land of rising terror ] (translation provided by the band)

A warm welcome to you, ladies and gentlemen
Come to our vivacious show of terror
Scenes you have never imagined await
Here in the serpentman’s show.
He strips a ire and commits suicide,
He dances on a rope at the edge of time
Here, you’ll see life pleading for death
Gripped by the strong arm of the law

And you, shivering from passion
Ejaculate hysteria
Breathe on death
In the land of rising terror

Please welcome again ladies and gentlemen
Our human prey on this safari of pain
Admire the executioner’s virtue
In this theatre of absurd

But listen well my little poor man
While admiring with awe this incredible show
These sights of horror that satisfy your eyes
Are pictures and images of days still to come
So don’t you forget my little poor man
The next helpless victim when you’ll become
Your civilization is a one-way road
A one-way road that leads.. to the arena

Ο ΠΑΙΔΙΚΟΣ ΜΑΣ ΠΟΛΕΜΟΣ [ o paidikos mas polemos / our childhood’s war ] (translation provided by the band)

Bitter fairytales, so true as death
With murderous knights, in a deserted land
Where witches are crucified
They want me to live in them, but they’re cheap
And makes me sick

Dampened tales, watered with blood and tears
With heroes betrayers, snakes that live without love and hate
They want me to live in them, but reptiles are repulsive

You know mummy, I don’t see dreams anymore
I draw black birds, ’cause you have stolen my colors
On mornings I wander in the subway, inhaling burial fragrances
In-void I roam, my moves in slow motion
And foul are all that I lust

How are you going to achieve redemption?
Which lie are you going to tell me?

Achieving redemption with lies?
You know mummy, I can’t stand to live begging
Now I’m born again through the bowels of a whore
I’m sweetly embraced by the flaming tongues of the city
You know mummy, your angel has become a demon

I want to play our
Childhood’s bloodless war again
Like the old days
But with a loaded gun

ΣΚΟΡΠΙΕΜΑΙ [ skorpiemai / scattered ] (translation provided by the band)

I live and I scatter myself in this place
Captive in an impervious city
A shadow theatre’s character
A cartridge-case in a damaged gun

I live with recent memories of regretting friends
I inhale breaths of terror from trapped perpetrators

I hide in images you refuse to see
I hang from walls you refuse to bring down
I scream when your sense of duty keeps you silent
I hold in my grasp what you’re afraid to touch

I scatter myself where the homeless roam
I scatter myself where the unemployed waste time
I scatter myself in the hate of the damned
I scatter myself in the fear of the compromised

In the silence of the armoured slaughter-house I freeze
But the colder I get
The rage of the trapped beast frightens them

In this place, everything is payed back
Now with money, not with regrets
But when the sun becomes dense
And wishes become curses

ΑΣΦΥΞΙΑ [ asphyxia ] (translation provided by the band)

Hey you, successful bootlicker with a specialist’s look
Tell why, your glass-made world
Sinks while hugging silence
Sickness causing death on the midway of life

Hey you, honest slave with a boss’s look
Tell me why, while wearing the slimy mask of a christian
Shivering, you regret the pleasure you deprived
From those you trampled upon

Nothing anymore makes me feel
That I have a place in your civilization
I’m your bastard, illegitimate child
I’m a parasite in your paradise

Pointless needs suffocate you
Your empty eyes disgust me
Your breath stinks greed
Your breath causes suffocation

ΕΠΙΣΤΗΜΟΝΙΚΗ ΠΡΑΓΜΑΤΙΚΟΤΗΤΑ [ epistimoniki pragmatikotita / scientific reality ] (translation provided by the band)

I saw them again in a bad dream
The same armed shadows

Vaulted on the stretched wires
That carry silences

I saw them in state laboratories sterilizing lives
In order to maintain the futility of today, turning
Tomorrow into yesterday
That carry silences

With dried blood on their nails
With remnants of flesh on their teeth
I know that pus is running through their veins
While with foul eyes they search
For the escaped prisoners of

Technocosmos “zero”
Technospace “zero”
Technotime “zero”
Technofear “zero”
Spineless human “zeros”
Spineless deliberately ignorant people who

Worship the insurpassable nothing
React virtually, maintaining their unfading fear

Of death-the virus of inertia that ruins their flesh
Of death-the germ of oblivion that shuts their eyes

ΟΙ ΝΙΚΗΤΕΣ [ oi nikites / those who won ] (translation provided by the band)

Your funny face seems familiar
When you’re not wearing your slavery mask
You, who were talking of colours and notes,
Are gagging your children with a remote control

This man of glass, I have seen him around
Long before he was forced to cut his wings off
Then, he was flying in an elusive dream
Now he steps with death’s assurance
Creating a new generation of digital wonders
Programming with a triumphant giggle

Those who won, pop in and out of my mind
Those who won, pop in and out of my mind
And I can’t cry anymore, I just can’t…
I hate past memories
Because of people who frighten me
With their words, their thoughts and their actions

I know that you felt like a victim
In the society of specialists
You did some smart thinking and embraced
The virtue of those who won

ΜΙΚΡΕΣ ΚΑΤΑΙΓΙΔΕΣ ΑΠΕΛΠΙΣΙΑΣ [ mikres kataigides apelpisias / small storms of desperation ] (translation provided by the band)

On dead sundays I wonder alone
Through the damped paths of the subterranean city

At nights I climb on rooftops
Trying to get into the souls of the bourgeois

Like a walk-on in the plays of blind poets
I play the part of the clown that weeps while he dances
The part of the dead clown that laughs

Winters passed and I am still here
With a dead-end memory in a miserable present
I am the breath of decayed times
With coloured words that smell alcohol
I give life to curses in your dead ego
I am guilty in the feast of the innocent

Summers passed and still you have not come
You travel searching for a bitter pleasure
I am the mirror you are afraid to look at
I strangle myself at nights with the ropes of a flag pole
I personify the grief of public holidays
I m the reaper of the days that have died

ΜΙΣΗ ΑΛΗΘΕΙΑ [ misi alitheia / half truth ] (translation provided by the band)

Affectionate eyes turn to me
When their selves were the only thing they wanted to sees
I saw those who were talking about “beliefs” and morals
Putting my dreams against the wall and I wonder

How can I live in this hell-made lie?

The streets of education are lighted up
But I saw my generation cabled
They praise their national momentums with awe
But I saw blood-soaked flags and I wonder

How can I live in this hell-made lie?

Truth is a baby faced whore
That spits despair on the face of a god
That stills sells love
Truth is a tear in the eyes of a fool
Who faced with horror, the last chance fade
At the depths of void

Half truth is the greatest lie
It makes tolerance a habit
Anthropoids with nylon hearts
Living on other people’s deaths and I wonder

How can I live in this hell-made lie?

ΜΙΑ ΡΙΠΗ ΣΤΟ ΜΕΛΛΟΝ [ mia ripi sto mellon / a burst in the future ] (translation provided by the band)

The same white veil of silence, hovers above
The endless grief of the city
Sinking the lives of a lost life into
The merciless cold of oblivion
Purifying people’s souls that have been blackened by hate
Healing wounds caused from words of old age wisdom

Angels executioners dressed in white colours
We are a burst in the future, we are rejects

This inhuman, sly white of your empty eyes
Reminds me of the truce in the battle for human dignity
It reminds me of the shroud that covers
The innocent victims of war
It reminds me of the faded from pity walls
Of public mental clinics

“White is the aryan race
Silence
Security prison cells
Cold
Snow
Lab coats
Shrouds
Heroin…
These, in a nutshell for the restoration of black”

ΤΟ ΤΕΛΟΣ ΒΡΥΧΑΤΑΙ ΠΑΝΕΤΟΙΜΟ [ to telos vryhatai panetoimo / the end roars in readiness ] (translation provided by the band)

Crowded in magic feasts on dreamed saturdays
Healing with imaginary pleasures
Ground on gray sundays by electric shrouds
Captive in houses-jail cells
Not considering that beneath silence
The end roars in readiness

You give yourself away in sensual pleasures
With mixed feelings
You’re blinded considering yourself happy
You’re sharing tins of comfort motherhood leftovers
Cool, but you feel safe
Not considering that beneath silence
The end roars in readiness

In a crisis of panic you identify with a faceless totality
Triumphant decorations make you shiver
You breed a master’s mind, got a national identity
A boil with leading ambitions
Not considering that beneath silence
The end roars in readiness

ΣΤΑ ΝΥΧΙΑ ΤΗΣ ΠΟΛΗΣ [ sta nyhia tis polis / caught in the city’s claws ] (translation provided by the band)

Endlessly, darkness embraces you at night
On non existent days you are struggled by light
A neon crown, I saw you were wearing
The city behind you, like a wild beast was howling

The city

With predatory eyes in department store corridors
I saw you bargaining imminent deaths
Your dance harvests sorrows, on unguarded crossings
I saw your lips shedding a teardrop of blood

It’s been a long time since you’ve been left alone
In the silence of an anonymous crowd
Subscriber in a network of boredom
You’re committing suicide

How many times did I tell you

Leave the gray cages with traces of formalin behind you
Don’t get caught in the city’s claws

Now you get scattered at nights
In the loneliness of dead ends
You follow hordes of wheeled machinery
You’re bleeding, but remember
How many times did I tell you

ΑΝΑΜΝΗΣΕΙΣ [ anamniseis / memories ] (translation provided by the band)

I will never forget those days
Wet strokes of a brush in the city’s gray
Hunted by a vile sun
And you were telling me run, we are still holding on
I will never forget the pointless days
Dry strokes of a brush in an empty file
Tell me it was an ugly dream
A cheap joke with bad taste

And I exist, I roam but I don’t sleep anymore
I cry, laugh, scream but I don’t remember why
We were left alone

I will never forget the wild nights
Flaming cuddle in the city’s grief
With an instinctive love for today
Streets of life born in dust
I will never forget the unfortunate nights
When you sold out the medals of victory
The veterans are desperately seeking
Ways to escape into a peaceful horror

Days pass the way hopes are denied
You’re the audience on a futile play
In deceased squares nights grow old
And I’m watching but now I know why we were left alone

(liner notes from the DIY Records CD “Our Childhood’s War” – front)

Because Of Habit…

Another tired night, surrenders dehydrated to the grey,
half-hearted breeze on a breathless day. It’s been a long
time since the days are born without a sun, here in grind city
the city of infinite sorrow

The national network of awakening activates the alarm
systems. The workcells awake in people’s conscience. Everyday
struggle against time has already begun, with a sour kiss,
a plastic smile and a few drops of scented oils on our
joints that rusted a long time ago. Gazes sometimes lost in
the horizon, sometimes focused on gun barrels passing through
lines of uniformed men. Senses sometime hypnotized from the
clocks ticking, the moan of wheeled machinery, the cry of
sirens, the mobs silence. Sometimes staying awake listening to
the well-known chorus: “Time Is Money… Time…” in the subway’s
coach. And the rails groan with despair.

Because Of Habit…

Workers trapped in their own rights, television viewers in
their armchairs, lovers in their sex, the encircled in pity.
The ones who have settled, haunted in the foundations of
their property, honourable citizens begging the state for
mercy, suspicious of immigrants, murders on the frontier our
protectors tragically unsuspected… And the immigrants
personifying the alibi, vaulting on the edge of endurance.

Because Of Habit…

Imagination galloping in web stereogramy.
Knowledge nailing electric cables and broken test tubes
in its veins.
Faith baptized in the name of non-existence.
Redemption loafing covered in blood in hospital corridors,
court rooms, prison yards.
And the poets bray arrogantly.

Because Of Habit…

Doubt giving birth to stuffed children, sterilized in life
style antiseptics.
Strolling about doped, repeatedly suicidal, condemned to
live saturday nights short life.
Cries sacrificed in the rhyme of slogans.
Loneliness a whore in the market of emotion.
And days fade away dramatically insignificant, under the
pressure of the most repressive planned curse…
…Here in grindcity…

(liner notes from the DIY Records CD “Our Childhood’s War” – back)

“That’s what I fear the most…,
…Seeing my cries become the murmur
of my kin” (Katerina Gogou)

This band is not just a group of people who share the
common need to play music, want to express their
ideas, communicate with others, share with practically anybody
the thrills of a traditional punk rock gig,
point out their disgust towards commercialization of music (and not only) or indicate their
well-meant intentions to support
all kinds of opposition

Because Of Habit…

We are a wide companionship on the edge, who wants to travel
through its own time and space, because we happen to be bored
of crawling around the corpse of the alternative rock reality.
We are a companionship who wants to base its existence on
everyday experience and not necessarily on the honourable mention
of so-called “followers”…

For contact: Villa Amalias-Aharnon 80, P.O.Box 31427
Athens 10035, Greece

We thank all those who helped us materially, practically and emotionally
to materialize this attempt. Also, those whose example helped us
to understand and achieve diversity.

Athens, the devastating year 2001

(…& further liner notes from the same CD)
This cd is a totally independent production and we don’t want
it to be played for any commercial purpose by professional d.j.’s,
radio producers and stations or to be sold in record stores.
The cd’s price is the equivalent of our attempt’s cost. Any
profit that we may have, will be given to future attempts of
people and collectives that work on a D.I.Y. basis.

Not to be sold over 2000 DRS.

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