Ghosts presence, ghost music in the radio at night,
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when you can't sleep, in the line of shadows
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around the glowing red eye.
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Voices that talk and talk towards nothing,
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so that nothing's hollow role shall not slide
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in on the scene in the solitary theater.
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And the voices laugh loud, so the candles flicker
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and go out, without noticing how dark it becomes.
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And he who records the voices of the spirits
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of the dead. On the tape filled with buzz and
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cosmic noise you can hear their remote voices
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form German words; they say: Wir sind die Toten,
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which is true, whoever they might be.
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The total inaccessibility of silence, it shines in the
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wallmirror when you've left, and disappears
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when you return. No silence in death's silence.
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|
-----------------
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We Are The Dead
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| Ulver |
