Meshuggah - Chaosphere lyrics
Tracks 01. Concatenation
02. New Millennium Cyanide Christ 03. Corridor Of Chameleons 04. Neurotica 05. The Mouth Licking What You've Bled 06. Sane 07. The Exquisite Machinery Of Torture 08. Elastic 01. Concatenation Music by Fredrik Thordendal Lyrics by Tomas Haake
A stale organic cage. Incarceration
I'm in the stranger: Me The user of my face; Beneath its guise I rot. A paradox in terms Interconnected, fused. My words are its thoughts I now share my self with my reflection Straining to divide our twined formation. Duality within singularity Coalescence done, the merging complete, the sentence carried out The confluence, our interwound flows; Surges not to be fused In this mental cage we absorb our selves. The only certainty is my suffering My mind in constant pleas for an end to this concatenation A struggle all in vain, we're both the same Plug me in, reconnect me to my self Plug me in, reconnect me to my soul Gone are all my hopes, all my vain illusions Deceived I dwell in me. In the core of my agony I fade in this duress. I'm weakening The one who claimed my front is now the claimant of my soul Into the core of self, the neuro-axis, I fade within the fading core of self I am... Gone-bound, lost, away, phased out, non-existing 02. New Millennium Cyanide Christ Music by Fredrik Thordendal, Mårten Hagström Lyrics by Tomas Haake
I'm a carnal, organic anagram. Human flesh instead of written letters
I rearrange my pathetic tissue. I incise. I replace. I'm reformed I eradicate the fake pre-present me. Elevate me to a higher human form The characters I am, made into a word complete, then I'll be the new norm Self inflicted fractures. I replace my bones with bars; Aluminum bleeding oxide; The drug of gods into my pounding veins My receiving eyes exchanged with fuses; Blindness induced to prevent destruction Ceramic blades implanted past my ribs to save me from the dues of inhalation I tear my worldly useless skin. Staples to pin it over my ears Non-receptive of ungodly sounds - I disable the audio-generators of fear Hexagonol bolts to fill my mouth, sharpened to deplete the creator of all violence; Without speech their will be no deceit Baptized in vitriolic acid. A final touch. A smoothing of features Completion of the greatest art; To cast the godly creatures Humans, once astray; Made divine. Stripped of congenital flaws We're incandescent revelations in a world of darkened forms Disciples, come join with me to save a failed humanity Follow the god of cyanide into the new eternity Behold; A sacrificial rase a cleansing worshipping of pain The new millennium christ here to redeem all from lies 03. Corridor Of Chameleons Music by Fredrik Thordendal Lyrics by Tomas Haake
We're the carriers of a new anomaly; Fold, unfold. Bend, shift color
Always turning our backs to the wind. Deaf to the inner voices screaming Purpose, profit, act only to gain. Blistered tounges from licking greedward Taste the enemy. Throw up their means. Swallow the bits that fits your needs Keep your eyes searching in all directions, scanning for opportunities Off you go. Begin your climb. Aim for the topmost twig of lies Put on a shape to pass undisturbed. Pick a color to blend with surroundings Choose a voice suiting, appropriate for the never benignant purpose Spin your eyes to read the court. Smoothen your path before the start Even out, fill the holes with the toxic clay of your rotting heart A contagious neuro-ego-disease. A virus sticking to liars We're the self-centered fuel to boost the new strain of fire Adapting, shifting, lacking opinion. Our numbers exceeding the billions Everly walking among ourselves down the corridor of chameleons Continue through the skein of boughs, navigate to keep you straight on track Make the right ramification-turns. Conceit will be your allied guide Climb the hierarchy ladders invisibly, veiled by the canvas of putrid dreams Every obstacle surmountable to the clouded vision you've conceived Scan the wall of truth for cracks. Your prey: The secrets hiding therein Feed upon its nourishing intestines to bring you forth in the "game" With every single step taken on the road of games called success, There's a fee for every lie The currency: Your dissolving integrity Will you make it to the top of the tree? Is the fortune there to be found? Chameleons are a short-lived breed. Maybe fate will find you dead on the ground 04. Neurotica Music & lyrics by Mårten Hagström
Subdued and repressed. A son of the vortex in faceless progress
Coaxing, tugging, grinding. So elevated, so God Refit this vessel of confusion to bring the eloquence of the mute Incorporate this forfeit cause. Assimilate and fake it mine I bow my head and taste the lies that I'm fed - all to claim my reward Master and servant. One for all and all for none. Ignorant to the distant hymns of chaos, the progressive stand before me Their eyes fixed in the distance, default to conform to the new They animate me. In confidence I thrive. My reign: supremacy. I speak no word unheard Re-motivate me. I'm all there is to be. An omnipotent being so complete in my diversity Ripples race across my eyes. Breaking out in acid sweat Wills shrivel and crack. Disintegration of my inner self I find the substance lost. A shed shell of a being of disgust Done is the cleansing. Complete is the surgery of the soul Step inside and taste the shackling thoughts that devour all confidence. Realizing I'm lost Being no more than a mutt with a fake pedigree. Stillborn soul shaped and molded I can live an eternity in a minute's time. A borrowed talent filled with copied goals The carcass of hope lies dead beneath the fabric of dreams Facing the truth within the mirror of souls - ha ha this is what I've become Always been in this emancipated state. Battered and numb Just a mindscape fit for illusion to make fear into reign and fulfillment of pain Kneeling in permanent solitude. The minions of the inside claim me Re-animate me, cause I was once alive. Defeat smears out my focus. Consciousness subsides Unmotivated. Beheld by scorching eyes. Infinity stares back at me The surging darkness coils to strike 05. The Mouth Licking What You've Bled Music by Fredrik Thordendal Lyrics by Tomas Haake
I'm the shallow, the superficial. I'm the common man
Faithless, narrow minded, indifferent, impassive A sycophantic leech. Tantamount to disintegrity I'm the vulture feeding on malignancy I'm the sin, the lecherous sneering at prostration I wallow in disease. I rejoice at degradation I yawn at misery. Spit at others happiness An advocate of maipulation. I embrace the sickening I'm the lost. I'm average. I'm common I'm infection. I'm human. I'm common A worm thriving in seas of disgust. I'm common The mouth licking what you've bled. I'm common I'm the pampered degenerate. I indulge my inclinations The only words to my attention are those that I myself creat Disorder. Chaos I debar all order, repudiate all purity. Infatuated by contentment I laugh at lies. Come behold the sickness in my common human eyes I'm the greed, the cynic. I'm the indifferent gaze Mendacity, betrayal. This is not a phase Ebullient with human filth. Here I am. Here I stay Flourishing in our disgrace. Blessed be the human way 06. Sane Music by Jens Kidman, Mårten Hagström Lyrics by Tomas Haake
Come and hear my twisted lies, the way I bend and falsify
A master of deception. User of an untrue smile A rapist of the truth. Adapting it to fit my cause I'm the human lie, a sad composition of all things vile Come and read my tainted lies. Lies Come see my wretched, tainted mind Bury, cover up, repress. I betray the people I "possess" What ever enemy - I'll disable with mendacity I make my way, extend my ground, I clear my future-path When it comes to joys, manipulation is my game of choice How I shine. I... The perfect freak. Confide in me Me... Believe in me My intentions soon you will see The sway of my scheme, imposed upon all Come follow me, my puppets to be I'll attach my strings, manipulation begins Sane me I'm the way, I'm the truth Gather with me, I'm the future guide Sane me Gather with me, Join my ministry I'm the way, the future guide I'm the self-acclaimed god of wicked games Sinister, repugnant bringer of pain 07. The Exquisite Machinery Of Torture Music by Tomas Haake, Fredrik Thordendal Lyrics by Tomas Haake
A sustained static gaze, oblivious to surroundings
Empty, strained, unmoving eyes; Introverted, paralyzed A burning mass of emotions denied, enraged by years of silencing An accumulation of feelings suppressed, returning to devour Bright rays of chaos, generated by subconsciousness A retribution by own thoughts twisting the mind into fits Fuelled with pains unveiled. Burning with contamination Set afire by disowned self-lies - they penetrate the eyes I... Am I the next. Self inflicted overload Thoughts returning to think me away I... Will I be reprieved, Or am I just awaiting the sentence of my exquisite, Internal machinery of torture The turmoil arises, from the innermost core of denial Shining streams of putrefaction, reflugent with disease - in outward motion to redress the balance by retaliation A terminal journey to relieve cognition of ability Minds lit like candles, by rejected senses and emotions Tearing flames, born in mind; Creations of self deception Strained, not to lose the grip - Humans locked in the new disease A light by eyes unseen has come to burn us clean I... Am I the next. Self inflicted overload Thoughts returning to think me away I... Will I be reprieved, Or am I just awaiting the sentence of my exquisite, Internal machinery I sense the bodily facilities - discorporated by the light All my pleas; denied By my psychogenical enemy The inner other me I'm dead. My shape slowly dissolving Shadows no longer cast, from this lifeless form that I've become Corporeality fails the grip. Substance now decreasing Amorphous. Without shape - I'm vanishing. Dematerialized My own corrosive thoughts - Probes armed with acid tools Disintegrated, I'm bleached out of reality Scattered bits internally; My last transparent remains - floating inanimate objects spinning into my soul Defeated by my contents. Tables turned, I'm a thought repressed I'm swallowed into myself. Destination; nothingness 08. Elastic Music by Mårten Hagström Lyrics by Tomas Haake
Assembled from dead incompatible pieces. Livid fragments regenerated.
Decomposing bits of organic matter, brought to life, revived. A liquid, limbless, sickening shape, a faltering semi-floating cluster. Its sole purpose of creation; To burst the imagination blood-surge. Defying the mould of human flesh. Smashing the wall of beliefs. A sight to bring insanity to all dimensional reality. Carved from thoughts unthought into a graphic, visible delusion of life. A twisted display of dehumanized features, by cells reflected, refracted. A frantic dancing of particles, in pathetic attempt at rendering flesh; Swirling to project the illusion of shape, dimension and mass. A walking translucent entity. Void, suspended. Inviolate by all rules, all standards of existence. An electrified vapor-cloud. A skein of bone and tissue. An atrocity, a liquid form unshaped to the organic norm. A mind not filled with thoughts, but a random flickering static. A soulless creature un-alive; I'm the un-human elastic |