Alternate Reality Song 2 - Rulers of Time

Ashes and photographs

In broken hands

Wild opera in the ears

Kisses fracture into sands

Bullets everywhere

Valentines no more

Unfinished cries, curses

Death knocks on the door

(Chorus)

Rulers of time

Rulers of change

Spread love, not war

Don’t look estranged

Rulers of dawn

Rulers of dreams

Spread music, not pain

Heal memories and screams

Corpses and roses

Sleep in their arms

Their babies, they die

In the crowd of firearms

Home in the graveyards

Tears in their eyes

They kiss the cold skin

And bury them in the sties

(Chorus)

(Rap)

--Needles of reflection

--Chronic vengeance

--Bubbles of murder

--A wounded sentence

--Flesh, blood

--Epitaphs in black

--Letters in red

--Another body in the sack

--Lights, Camera

--Language of lust

--Question and answer

--Hope and trust

--Politics and cinema

--Intercourse

--Weak or poor

--Just push and force

--News and papers

--Revolts and songs

--Who are you to decide

--The rights and wrongs?--

(Chorus)X2

Travellers of Time - The Break-Up Song

When the city breathes beneath your palms

on glass doors

When the evening drops its coat

revealing its dark clothes

And you dream in a painter’s cage

with a song in your mind

And you paint in a poet’s diary

with a brush and rewind

When your memories wander on glass

looking for home

When you excrete pain in smoke

walking down the streets alone

And you drink in a madman’s story

with salt water on your face

And you break bottles in a drunkard’s mansion

with fresh blood on your dress

When your finger and cigarettes burn

in smoking rooms

When you smother your life with alcohol

and only death looms

And you make love like a pervert

with money in your pocket

And you write ballads like a madman

looking for your past in her locket.

Curse and Freedom

night after night. a song after another. you knocked on the sylvan corners of the poems of mercy.
winter never forgave you, and never did the hours…
which dropped every minute in a glass of paranoia.
the moon, your third eye.
you plucked it, an august evening, from the corner of the sky.
it bleeds now,
like any other rebel, like any other sacrifice.
remove it. dare. let it heal.

your music grows old every season,
betrays you,
(you dance like a puppet to the tunes of betrayal and apology)
reflections everywhere. and the hangman dreams…here, your destiny

(remember)
the poet’s prophesy. the poet’s curse.

feel the wicked navel of this city.
run your fingers upon its hungry skin.
every turn here, hides a new memory for you.
every street light, a new story.

time makes love.
you weep on the shoulders of pale, imaginary silences.

awaken this mutant night.
bribe freedom with the perfume of your breathe.
lay your sins on a bed of wine and cards.
Stir. Reveal. Kiss. Feel. Surrender.
And the flickering candlelight records.

Che

wild man in a beret,let your spirit breathe now; upon this time and red soil. there are stains of rebellion still hanging from your beard. jungle scent on your fatigue. liquid history in your eyes. there was a time, when you could paralyse mysteries with your words. there was still a time, when you could speak to wolves and stranger lakes.

your hands, betrayed by the seasons of defeat...they were crafted for blood, which could morph into blades, and hunt for dictators//

language of questions and calculus, you were a gambler from a different age, who chose every war to smoke his cigar.

miracles and violence. sound and silence.

vengeance and freedom. murder and peace.

beneath the burden of music and memories,

I do remember you

as a rebel,

as a hero in another monsoon epic

and maybe, bullets were your only reward...

and death, your only refuge.