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• Artiste: Primordial
• Titre: The Mouth Of Judas
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I am cut from the cloth of Judas And have seen his face in mine The weathered hands that turn the pages Are scattered in the sun My ship has the blackest sails Yet no wind to drive like slaves You cannot see from shore That it casts no shadow upon the wave The sepulchral crawl with us Over land and see they hail Deadened hands upon the rudder Groaning on the gale They will dash you against the cliffs 'Til every brittle bone is broken Jutting rip and gristled knuckle Is gnashing on the foam I am cut from the cloth of Judas From the hangman's hand itself The long stare of the condemned And the cursed song of slaves "And you who follow me to make Sure I do not exceed the span Given to me on earth I take Care old shadow of a man Dead God of all my god's own snake" Guillam Apollinaire From "Reply of the Zapur-Og Cossacks to the Sultan of Constantinople" Free me from the hangman's hand Free me from the hangman's noose So bend you knee before the majesty of death You struggle for breath and lay the dead head to head So they stretch from the womb to the grave Let us tell you the first journey of men The first murder, the soil so red and barren It burns so red and barren