Pleasure for flesh,
soul, heart and life.
Pumas devouring pumas
On coasts, ridges and jungles.

Multicolor blood beasts
In the land of the Sun.
Hypocrisy runs deep
In the ritual of the crimson god.

Creole feast
Of false identity.
Nothing is what it seems.
Bicolour Cannibalism.

Mud over a two colours flag,
Blood after the mud.
The World's Navel cries
While demons are dancing.

The procession of lies goes on
From the bridge to the avenue.
Infected by rotten minds,
The beloved crystalline liquor.

Creole feast
Of false identity.
Nothing is what it seems.
Bicolour Cannibalism.

Looking for a place where nothing rules,
I found a box where all my memories were locked.
I saw... creeping creatures with a thousand spears.
I felt... they were just earth creations,
A part of the universe of life.

Twisted hands trying to touch me,
Trying to take me down.
Help me!

It's no longer the magic,
The spell of mourning.
God if I have to live this life alone,
Tell me why are you there.

Why don't you leave me alone?
Why are you in my dreams?
Why are you in my thoughts?
Tell me why are you there?
Tell me god your majesty!

A flower brought me down.
...And I saw what my ancestors did.
The ruins of life.
The remains of what once was great
And now is just pure stones.
Fragments of lost cultures
From ancient civilizations.
Mutilated souls which I will take to keep myself alive!

God, take a look at your dying souls.
Souls that have nowhere to go.

There is only silence, everywhere!
God, were you there?

Silence, black silence.

There are no more souls, no more light.
The end has come, the universe of death.
I have nothing more to feel
Into this endless desert.

It's my hell.
Your hell.
Hell.

The moon is awake.
The sorrow begins.
My shadow is gone
And my spirit is lost.

Alone in the dark
With voices surround me.
Keep calling my name.
Keep drifting me away.

They are always there, watching.
They are always there, disturbing nightmares.

Laughters beyond the glass,
Laughing into my head.
Cryings deep within my soul,
Screaming out inside.

It's just night.
The shadows coming.
A star is burning down.
Spell of mourning.

It's hard to fight
Against those visions,
Against these noises.
It's hard to fight.

Where is it?
Maybe there.
Where someone feels.
Mystic nightcalls.

Where am I?
Nowhere.
Where no one sees.
Mystic nigthcalls.

Near to the clouds,
A lake keeps a spirit that nobody feels.
Lake from the high plains, fallen tears.
There's a nymph that anybody feels.

An old man. He lives alone. A rural life.
Mortal man who walks lonely through the fields,
Under the sun and the shining moon.
He's waiting for someone who'll never come.

But the dark storm breaks the night.
The lake awakes and its water shakes.
The lady dances and spins in the eye of the storm, calling for him.
She sneakes into his dreams.

Late into the night, he heard her calling.
His soul flew and he went for her.

...And the dark storm broke the night.
The lake awoke and its water shook.
The lady danced and played in the eye of the storm.
He'll never return. They went far away.

Seven rivers of red wine.
Thirteen clovers on an elf's hand.
Outstanding volcanos
Throwing out death in a dark blue sky.

Shining eye in a crystal sphere,
Marble towers turning around.
A twisted landscape,
Awful, obscure, obscene.

Corridors of geometry.
Apple tree, poisonous.

Undulate shapes crossing a mirror of liquid mass.
Oceans of illness kissing the coasts of brutality.
Monochromatic art showing a diversity of faces.
Lifeless planet, empty and gray. A gloomy scene.

On the heavens, a stone citadel.
Greatness, mystic beauty and perfection.
Cascades of blood.
Vulture clouds over fields of starvation.

Golden mask. Lines on desertic paths.
Ancient god, thunder and lightning.
Under filth rain,
open wounds in the heart of the earth.

Labyrinth of ivory.
Evil beast, dangerous.

Sunflowers garden in the middle of a tiny swanlake.
Plague of rats running down the streets. Chaotic streets.
So delicious, fine still life, displaying in a reddish room.
Morbid claws above mankind, pulling the strings.

Corridors of ivory.
Apple tree, dangerous.

Plague of rats running down the streets. Chaotic streets.
Morbid claws above mankind, pulling the strings.
Oceans of illness kissing the coasts of brutality.
Lifeless planet, empty and gray. A gloomy scene.

When the night burns
And its heat embraces the Andes,
The real me awakes
And puts its sight on that light.

Glow of an immortal fire.
Energy of another dimension.
My soul is under attraction.
A new trip begins.

Flying into infinity,
The cosmos lodges my existence.
The universe shows its magnificence.
That mighty call rides so quiet.

My journey turns eternal.
This stellar path never ends.
A strange force rules my movements.
That power is ethereal.

Why can't I reach it?
The same old scene, again and again.
Spell that captures my spirit.
Charm that exposes my weakness.

Seducing is that presence.
Everlasting is the nightmare.
When the night burns
And its heat embraces the Andes.

Upwards into the dark,
Expressions of horror
Rise from my heart,
Disturbing my mind.

A shape lying lifeless
Breaks the shadows.
It can't be real.
My goddess falls.

Night after night
Death visions descend,
Upon the dust,
Within my head.

Gray skies embrace my soul.
A cold wind strokes my face.
Silent notes of agony
Born from my heart.

Ancient sorrows.
Images of death.
Embellish my sight.
Spread out my paths.

Night after night
Death visions descend,
Upon the dust,
Within my head.

Gray skies embrace my soul.
A cold wind strokes my face.
Silent notes of agony
Born from my heart.

Ancient sorrows.
Images of death.
Embellish my sight.
Spread out my paths.

I. LOS CHANCAS:

En el tiempo del Aucapacha,
Choclococha vio nacer
un pueblo guerrero, fiero e indomable.
Sus cabezas no ven caer.

Desde Huamanga, ciudad del halcón,
Usco Vilca y Anco Vilca
inspiran las tropas que parten rabiosas
con sed de expansión. Sangrienta misión.

Astu Huaraca. Tomay Huaraca.
Lideran la fuerza siniestra
con rumbo hacia el Cusco.
Su intención: dominación.

Tras su paso, de pueblos enteros,
sólo cráneos empalados.

Curacas chancas de vinchas rojas,
en sus atuendos se logra ver
dioses, jaguares, míticos seres,
que amparan celosos su fuerza y poder.

Furia que tiñe de negro y rojo
en la milicia su brava tez.
Cabellos trenzados,
ondeantes al viento de guerra.

La honda movediza,
Astu Huaraca es.
En lo profundo de su mirada
arden las ansias por someter.

Hordas acechan ya la sagrada ciudad.
La amenaza que late,
en las puertas del Cusco,
a los incas busca aniquilar.

II. LOS INCAS:

Desde cuatro ventanas sagradas
surgen cuatro parejas de hermanos,
dando origen a un pueblo ancestral
cuya raza, Inca es.

Manco Cápac, Apu Inca,
en el tiempo peregrinó.
Liderando con su gente,
la ciudad del Cusco fundó.

Muchos años han pasado.
Viracocha, octavo inca, gobierna.
Ya decrépito y cansado,
ve su ciclo terminar.

Inca Urco le sucede.
Elegido del anciano es.
Pusilánime, decadente.
Placer y vicio enferman su mente.

Cusi Yupanqui, joven vástago noble,
valentía y coraje demuestra.
Hábil y diestro en el manejo de armas.
De las justas él nunca huye.
Pensamientos superiores
siempre ocuparán su intelecto.

Ya los chancas han ingresado
al corazón de la casta inca.
Un emisario han enviado
exigiendo rendición total.
Doblegar, sojuzgar.
No se ve quien los pueda enfrentar.

Viracocha ha declinado.
Su consigna es la huída.
Inca Urco va tras sus pasos
dejando la ciudad rendida.
Caos, pánico,
ya la venas del Cusco infectan.

"Yo no he nacido para
padecer sumisión ante nadie".
Cusi Yupanqui exclamó con furia,
encarando con bravura al destino.

Pachacútec, se ha mostrado:
"El que transforma la tierra".
Un gran líder ha nacido
y protegerá a su pueblo.

III. LA RESISTENCIA:

El novel Inca, caudillo y guerrero,
organiza la resistencia del pueblo, en apariencia vencido.
Se ven alinearse hileras de piedras con gran armamento,
simulando tropas de guerra en la lejanía.
Ayunos, plegarias y sacrificios se ofrendan.
El Sol se manifiesta ofreciendo victoria.
Cavando hoyos, reclutando fuerza humana,
los escuadrones bélicos se conforman.

IV. EL CONFLICTO:

De un cerro llamado Carmenca,
Usco Vilca infunde fuerza.
Fuerza chanca a sus guerreros,
que por miles y miles se cuentan.

Nube oscura, lluvia pétrea,
las hondas proyectan violencia.
Los Andes tiemblan.
La gran batalla comienza.

Con la piel del puma sagrado,
Pachacútec cubre su testa.
Alentando en noble gesta
a sus huestes que están sangrando.

Flechas, lanzas, macanas y hondas,
fundidas en cruel tempestad.
Defienden, los incas,
su tierra y su libertad.

V. LA INVOCACIÓN:

Pachacútec:
"Hermanos despierten,
ahora es la batalla.
Su enigma demuestren
en esta hora aciaga".

VI. LA TRANSFORMACIÓN:

Las inertes rocas grises
atendiendo al firme llamado
del soberano hijo del Sol,
en mágicos soldados incas
se han transformado.
Pururauca llevan por nombre,
acudiendo a la refriega con gran vigor.

VII. LA BATALLA FINAL:

El combate ya muestra su ardor
tiñendo con sangre el campo.
El espíritu inca se anima
y va su moral elevando.

Escuadrones enteros de chancas
ven su gran poderío caer.
Es el frenesí Pururauca
que busca deseoso vencer.

En el éxtasis del conflicto
Pachacútec su arrojo despliega.
De las andas ha tumbado
al ídolo Usco Vilca.

Viendo ya la inminente derrota,
hacia Huamanga marchan.
Los chancas...
en halcones tornaron.