The scar of hundreds of answers.


Sleeping masters roused to burning homes from beds. Steeping toddlers plucked from their watery deaths: ribbons, plaques and soft-soap are the ephemeral rewards paid to the slaves whose selfless acts accord a higher value to their masters, while parting gifts (bolt pistols) console the rest. The remainder. Too bad the tributes paid to lives that relegate these thrones to lives spent valuing the runners-up, are known to be neither fleeting nor desirable. But nothing surprises me these days. I just sit and watch the box-cars roll by and wait. Patient. Unattended. A package under a terminal bench. A short fuse to scatter steady hands if I forget to remember that better lives have been lived in the margins, locked in the prisons and lost on the gallows than have ever been enshrined in palaces.

It’s not your fault, there’s nothing we can do, it’s just the way it is, there’s nothing we can do.

It’s really not all that hard.


Downfall of Gaia - These Wet Feathers… (+ Giving Their Heir to the Masses)

"The world that we live in is ruled by hate, egotism, corruption and violence. The blindfolded humans create this downward spiral with their own hands. Due to their egotistic behaviour and false ideals our species keeps on destroying mother earth. These songs tell what is going to happen if we do not change our ways. Mankind will perish in its own dirt. Without this burden called “human” our planet will rise in its beauty once again."