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letra de return into the city of slaughter - clandestine blaze

we have foreseen the history cycle reach phase of its most malicious era
wheels of history fed with fresh flow of blood of the masses

arise and go now to the city of slaughter; into its courtyard wind thy way;
there with thine own hand touch, and with the eyes of thine head
behold on tree, on stone, on fence, on mural clay, the spattered blood
and dried brains of the dead
the thousand golden arrows of the sun, will flash upon thy malison

we never witnessed rebirth of new man, only illusions and dreams
men gather around the mound of cadavers, like so many times before
howling in their disbelief why once again we are asking the same questions
where men of reason have unleashed their most vile demons

then wilt thou flee to a yard, observe its mound. upon the mound lie two, and both are headless –
a jew and his hound. the self-same axe struck both, and both were flung
unto the self-same heap where swine seek dung; tomorrow the rain will wash their mingled blood
into the runners, and it will be lost in rubbish heap, in stagnant pool, in mud
unto the attic mount, upon thy feet and hands;
behold the shadow of death among the shadows stand
there in the dismal corner, there in the shadowy nook
multitudinous eyes will look
upon thee from the sombre silence –
the spirits of the martyrs are these souls
gathered together, at long last
beneath these rafters and in these ign0ble holes
the hatchet found them here, and hither do they come
to seal with a last look, as with their final breath, the agony of their lives, the terror of their death
tumbling and stumbling wraiths, they come, and cower there
their silence whimpers, and it is their eyes which cry
wherefore, o lord, and why? it is a silence only god can bear

it was the flight of mice they fled, the scurrying of roaches was their flight;
they died like dogs, and they were dead!
thou shalt then meet these men destroyed by sorrow
sighing and groaning, at the doors of the wealthy. proclaiming their sores, like so much peddler’s wares
the one his battered head, t’other limbs unhealthy, one shows a wounded arm, and one a fracture bares
and all have eyes that are the eyes of slaves, slaves flogged before their masters;
and each one begs, and each one craves: reward me, master, for that my skull is broken
reward me for my father who was martyred!

- clandestine blaze

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