Scorpion Wind lyrics


The reprisals of the weak against the strong do not really come within
nature. They do from the moral point of view, but not the physical, since to
take these reprisals the weak man must employ forces he has not received
from nature. He must adopt a character that he has not been given. He must,
in a way, contstrain nature. But what does really come from the laws of this
wise mother is the harm unto the weak by the strong, since, to bring this
process to pass, the strong man makes use only the gift which he has
received from nature. He does not, like the weak, take on a character
different from his own. He merely utilizes the sole effects of that which
nature has endowed him. Therefore, everything resulting from that is
natural; his acts of oppression, violence, cruelty, tyranny, injustice: all
these diverse expressions of a character engraved in him by the hand of the
power which placed him in the world are therefore quite as simple and as
pure as the hand which guided him. And when he uses all of his rights to
oppress the weak, to plunder the weak, he is therefore doing the most
natural thing in the world. If our common mother had desired this equality
that the weak strive so hard to establish, if she had really wanted the
equitable division of property, why should she have created two classes, one
weak, the other strong? Has she not, with this distinction, given sufficient
proof that her intention was that it should apply to possessions as well as
bodily faculties? Does she not prove that her plan is for everything to be
on one side, and nothing on the other? And that precisely in order to arrive
at the equilibrium that is the sole basis of all our laws, for in order that
this equilibrium may exist in nature, it is not necessary that it be made to
establish it. Their equilibrium upsets that nature. What, in our eyes, seems
to us to go against it, is exactly that which, in hers, establishes it. And
for this reason, it is from this lack of balance, as we call it, that are
produced the crimes by which she establishes her order. The strong seize
everything; that is the lack of balance, from man's point of view. The weak
defend themselves and rob the strong; there you have the crimes which
establish the equilibrium necessary to nature Let us therefore not have any
scruples about what we can filch from the weak, for it is not we who are
committing a crime. It is the act of defense, or vengeance, performed by he
which has that character. By robbing the poor, dispossessing the orphan,
usurping the widow's inheritance, man is only making use of the rights he
has received from nature. The crime that consists in our profit from them,
the penniless wretch that nature offers unto our blows is the prey she
offers the vulture. If the strong appear to disturb her order by robbing
those beneath them, the weak reestablish it by robbing their superiors, and
both are serving nature.


There is a way that seemeth right unto man But the end thereof is death There is another way Preserve thy loneliness from all men; remain undisturbed by all except the impression, free thyself from anything that could be foreign to thy being, and direct thy conscience towards the solitary view by which thou bearest a beast in thine soul as an object from which thine eyes never wander. Complete isolation of soul brooks no imitation of creatures, no self-humiliation, nor self-elevation, and strives to be neither below or above, wanting only to rest in itself, reaching neither towards love nor towards suffering. It does not consider it's equality, or inequality, with other beings. It wants neither to be the one, nor the other. It wants only to be at one with itself. Preserver thy loneliness from all men.


So won't someone pour me another martini to sip while Rome is afire? So won't someone pour me another martini, and we'll toast the world's funeral pyre. I was born in a blizzard of bubbles, rising us towards the sun. Clock this world up for the dead(?), and he said he'd rather have fun. I've been drinking, and I've been thinking, and I think that I'll drink some more. So here's to your health, and here's to crime, and here's to sex evermore. We're men of the brain, and not cocaine. I treasure my pleasure and cherish your pain. So won't someone pour me another martini to sip while Rome is afire? Won't someone pour me another martini, and we'll toast the world's funeral pyre. So let's have another, another sherry, gin and vermouth, whisky sour, highball, 7 and 7(?), midori martini, chardonnay, rum and coke, margaritas, long island iced tea, cognac, daiquiris, bloody mary, [something] all around, Jaegermeister, Irish whisky, keep them coming, keep the glasses full. To crime, here's mud in your eye, [something], chin-chin, [something], [something], [something], Heilige, [something].


All men, inasmuch as they are not liberated from the bondage of time, follow the downward path of history, whether they know it or not and whether they like it or not. Few, indeed, thoroughly like it, even in our epoch, let alone in happier ages, when people read less and thought more. Few follow it unhesitatingly, without throwing at some time or other a sad glance towards the distant lost paradise towards into which they know, in their deeper consciousness, that they are never to peer; the paradise of perfection in time within so remote that the earliest people of which we know remember it as only a dream. Yet they follow their fate away; they obey their destiny. That resigned submission to the terrible law of decay; that acceptance of the bondage of time by creatures who dimly feel they could be free from it, but who find it too hard to try to free themselves, who know beforehand that they would never succeed, even if they did try, because at the bottom of that incurable unhappiness of man the deplored again and again the Greek tragedies, long before these were written. Man is unhappy because he knows, because he feels, in general, that the world in which he lives, of which he is a part, is not what it should be; not what is could be; not what, in fact, it was at the dawn of time, before decay set in. He cannot wholeheartedly accept the world as his, especially not accept the fact that it is going from bad to worse (be glad). However much he may try to be a realist, and snatch from destiny whatever he can, when he can, still an invincible yearning for the better remains at the bottom of his heart; he cannot, in general stomach the world as it is. In heralding the most widespread massacre, I believe that war is preparing mystical spheres for the apparition of great ideals. Where the charnel house dissolves, joy will be born in from it; where the weight of mortality sinks down, the soul's freedom will be uplifted. The greater the offering, the greater will be the wonder and the miracle.


I am the night that robs you of light The night wind that chills to the bone I am the cold stillness, the stars and the harshness The darkness you wander alone I am the sun that parches the desert I am that desert where you meander forever I am the heat that scorches your feet As you collapse miles from the water I am the vulture that feeds and feasts On the flesh of your bloated cadaver I am the rain that subdues the heat Albeit for you I arrive somewhat late But in time to wash the dust from your bones And moisten the place you repose all alone I am the breeze that scatters the leaves The storm that turns towns upside down I am the wind, the rain and the thunder The furious torrent that rips all asunder And tears what is dead, and that which is living Without regard for what I'm taking or leaving


In the night, the dead stood along the wall, and cried, "We would have knowledge of God. Where is God? Is God dead?" God is not dead. Now, as ever, he liveth. There is a God whom you know not, for mankind forgot it. We name it by it's name: Abraxas. Abraxas standeth above the sun and above the devil. It is improbable probability, unreal reality. Hard to know is the deity of Abraxas; it's power is greatest because man perceiveth it not. From the sun he draweth absolute good, from the Devil, infinite evil, but from Abraxas: life. Abraxas is the sun and at the same time, the eternally sucking gorge of the void. The power of Abraxas is twofold, but ye see it not, because for your eyes the warring opposites of this power are extinguished. What the Sun-god speaketh is life, what the Devil speaketh is death, but Abraxas speaketh that of power, of the cursed word, which is life and death at the same time. Abraxas speaketh of truth and lie, of good and evil, of light and darkness; in the same word and in the same act. Wherefore is Abraxas terrible? It is as splendid as the lion who [something] striketh down it's victim. It is as beautiful as a day of spring(?). It is the abundance which seeketh the union with emptiness. It is love and love's murder. It is the saint, and [something] betrayer. It is the brightest light of day and the darkest night of madness. God dwelleth behind the sun, the Devil behind the night, but God bringeth forth out of light what the Devil sucketh into the night. Abraxas is the world: it's becoming, and it's passing. Upon every gift that cometh from the Sun-god, the Devil layeth his curse. Everything that ye entreat from the Sun-god, ye getteth indeed from the Devil. Everything that ye create with the Sun-god giveth effective power to the Devil. What is terrible Abraxas? It is the delight of the earth, the cruelty of the heavens. Before it, there is no question and no reply.


Yesterday, the living mourn the dead. Today, the dead mourn the living. There is no more sleep There is no more truce There is no more respite March on Toward the world's battle March on Now, as then In wood and in mountain and in plain On river and lake and sea Let man daily invent his glory And his death


Know from henceforth that the kind of person who destiny calls: the ordinary rules of life are reversed and become quite different. Good and evil are transferred to another and higher plane, then virtues which might be applauded in an ordinary person would in you become vices, simply because they would only be the source of obstacles and ruin. While the great law of the world is not to do this, or that, to avoid one thing, or pursue another: it is to live. To enlarge and develop our most active and sublime qualities in such a way that from any sphere we can always strive to reach another one that is wider and more airy, more elevated. Do not forget that. Go straight ahead. Simply do as you please insofar as it serves your interests. Leave weakness and scruple to the petty minds and to the rabble of underlings. There is only one consideration worthy of you: the elevation and greatness of yourself. I think that a decent man, a man who feels he has some soul, has now more than ever the strict duty of falling back upon himself, and since he can't save others, of striving for his own betterment. That is the essential task in times like ours. Everything that has been lost by society does not disappear, but takes refuge in individual lives. The mass is petty, wretched, shameful, and repugnant. The isolated man can rise above these, and just as in the ruins of Egypt, amidst heaps of rubble, broken and unrecognizable fragments, walls that have collapsed or subsided and are often difficult to repair, there will have survived some colossus, rusting into the sky which, by it's very height, preserves an idea of the nobility of the temple or town, now razed to the ground forever. So in the same way these isolated men can help to preserve our conception of God's noblest and finest creatures ought to be like.


Follow the path of the cross To glory or to loss One cross made of iron One is made of wood One leads to forever now And one would if it could Toward the cross of iron Toward the cross of fire Toward the sun within the soul Into your heart's desire Empires tumble and fall Columns crumble and fall Swords and candles almost last(?) Stone and marble turns to dust But the flame within the soul Burns forever


Never forgive, never forget Never, never Never forgive, never forget Never, not ever I once imagined the lie to be the ultimate enemy; an enemy of life and of everything worthwhile in life; a pestilence that would sooner or later corrupt all that is grand and noble in life; debasing truth and beauty in equal measures; casting it's ugly shadow over everything. Now I realize that truth and beauty and nobility are eternal; they cannot be debased by the lie. They cannot be destroyed by the lie. They live forever. Only mankind can be debased by the lie. Only mankind can be left by the light far far afield; from truth, from beauty, from purity. And when man becomes sufficiently debased, every eternal value shall pronounce judgment upon them and shall act as their judge, and their jury, and their executioner. Now I've learned to love the lie. I love the poison it spreads. I love the weakness it engenders. I love the seeds of destruction it sows, and I love the judgment it brings. The lie is not an enemy of truth; it is an ally of truth. It prepares the way, it balances the books, and it makes clean the slate. Bring my enemies before me And slay them transcribed by Satya Palani, with additions by Benito Vergara ------------------- [long shadows]