I'm lost control again...

You are a modern goth. You're into the music, and
life style...after all, you have a broken
home. You deserve to be gothic, with o
questions asked!

What Common Gothic Stereo-type Are You?
brought to you by

Decepção

Sempre por perto, mas nunca visível.
Mas se tudo o que mereço é isso, eu agradeço ainda assim.
Afinal, eu não poderia pensar em nada além do que conhecê-la, pois não farei aquele mesmo erro outra vez.

"Standing so close knowing that it kills me to breathe you in."

Funeral

Estou esmagada
chute meus restos e jogue no esgosto
Lá é meu cemitério
onde tudo o que é podre é decomposto

Eu sou morta
rasgue minha pele e alimente aos corvos
Ela é branca mas é suja
Meu sangue cheira a formol

Eu sou o demônio
Pegue meus pecados e contamine o mundo
Pegue minha boca
e pregue contra as boas almas

Eu sou Deus
Pegue meus olhos e observe o sofrimento
deste mundo doente
Como um mero espectador
em seu trono reluzente
Sádico, ele ri
do seu esforço impotente

Alleine Zu Zweit

Lacrimosa - Alleine Zu Zweit (Juntos Sozinhos)

No fim da verdade
No fim da luz
No fim do amor
No fim - existe você
Nada sobreviveu
Nós nos separamos silenciosamente há muito tempo atrás
E com o dia a dia
A mentira do nosso amor cresceu
E quanto mais nós percorremos nossos caminhos juntos
tanto mais nós nos distanciamos

Sozinhos - Juntos
Nós nos esquecemos como procurar um ao outro
Hábito obscurece a visão
Letargia sufoca os sentidos
Orgulho intoxica a mente
E a proximidade distancia

Dance - minha vida - dance
Dance comigo
Dance comigo mais uma vez nesse
puro êxtase de amor despido

E quando eu olhei para ele
Quando eu a experimentei
Quando eu vejo nós dois
Alguma coisa sobreviveu
E se eu tivesse que encontrar forças e esperança
Se eu ainda tiver fé em nós dois
Se eu pudesse conseguir a ligação com ela
Se eu a pudesse ter uma vez mais para mim
Se pudéssemos retornar ao básico - nossas fundações
Se pudessemos nos redescobrir outra vez
Se ao menos ela quisesse
Eu faria!

Ambition

Gerry Cambridge - Ambition

On a wide northern shore
I found a house of stone
Cold in island silence;
and lived alone

Below the sun
with seabird cries,
and other things
without disguise.

Likely that is why,
since then
I try persuading blindness
Back, to see again.

judgement's cry...

Eu chorei pelas limitações, e na verdade isso não passa de uma lição. Agora eu vejo um sentido em todo o sofrimento. A única saída é aprender, e enfrentar a minha própria sentença de cabeça erguida.
Eu julguei e condenei tudo e todos, quando na verdade o que deveria ter sido condenado eram os meus próprios julgamentos.
Meu destino ainda não está escrito, eu decidi que seria assim por covardia...
E agora que mudei de idéia, o que eu mais quero é encontrá-la.

The Price

Look at your life
and the things you'll never see
Look at your face
showing nothing but misery

This is where you are
and you realise where you could have been
Now you wonder why the thoughts of suicide
won't leave your mind...

Look what you've done!
By turning gold into stone
you could only have lost
all the things you never owned

The price is too high
You find no way to survive
Nothing but your fault if it's too late,
You're the one who fucked up all of your days...

To Santa Claus and Little Sisters

This poem was written by a fifteen-year-old boy, most likely in the late 1960's, two years before he committed suicide.

To Santa Claus and Little Sisters

Once,
On yellow paper, with green lines, he wrote a poem,
And called it "Chops",
Because that was the name of his dog,
And that’s what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A"
And a gold star,
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door,
And read it to all his aunts.
That was the year his sister was born,
With tiny toenails and no hair,
And Father Tracy took them to the zoo
And let them sing on the bus.
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a Christmas card
Signed with a row of x's.
And his father always tucked him in at night,
And he was always there to do it.

Once,
On white paper, with blue lines, he wrote another poem.
And he called it "Autumn"
Because that was the name of a season,
And that’s what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A"
And told him to write more clearly.
And his mother didn’t hang it on the kitchen door
Because the door
Had just been painted.
That was the year his sister got glasses,
With black frames and thick lenses.
And the kids told him why father and mother kissed a lot,
And that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews,
And the girl around the block laughed
When he went to see Santa Claus at Macy’s.
And his father stopped tucking him in bed at night,
And got mad when he cried for him to.

Once,
On paper torn from his notebook, he wrote another poem,
And he called it "Question Marked Innocence",
Because that was the name of his grief
And that’s what it was all about.
And the professor gave him an "A"
And a strange and steady look.
And his mother never hung it on the door
Because he never let her see it.
That year he found his sister necking on the back porch
And his parents never kissed, or even smiled.
And he forgot how the end of the "Apostle’s Creed" went,
And Father Tracy died.
And the girl around the block wore too much make-up
That made him cough when he kissed her,
But he kissed her anyway.

Once,
At 3 a.m., he tucked himself in bed,
His father snoring soundly.
He tried another poem, on the back of a pack of matches,
And he called it "absolutely nothing"
Because that’s what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A"
And a slash on each damp wrist,
And hung it on the bathroom door,
Because he couldn’t reach the kitchen.

A Place In Time

So long ago, another life
I can feel your heartbeat
It's not a dream, remember us
I could see it in your eyes
We'll find our place in time
A place in time, beyond the sun
We'll find our place in time
A place in time to call our own

Hmmm... essa música significa muito pra mim, é o tema da opening de The 4400, e essa música junto com a opening trouxeram á tona antigas lacunas já enterradas pelo tempo.
Não entendo o porque, mas ela me trouxe de volta algumas lembranças sutis embora importantes para mim escondidas na minha memória... importantes porque não é possível que tivesse sido á toa, não pode ser tudo em vão.
E sinto na pele novamente o sentimento de nostalgia do algo desconhecido.
Exatamente como quando eu costumava passar por aquele lugar e sentir que queria entrar e ficar ali... porque alguém que eu ainda não tinha conhecido talvez estivesse lá, e estava.
No final talvez tenha sido tudo por isso, e sem razão alguma.
Eu não consigo entender...
Gostaria de poder achar um lugar no tempo para me sentir segura.
PARAR.
Algum lugar onde eu pudesse voltar... o lugar que eu sonho e sinto falta, mas não sei onde é.

Dead Mode

I put myself in dead mode
Killing stupid dreams and stupid hopes
I've got to clean this mess around
So I can die in a soft ground

I put myself in liar mode
Keeping on the lies I'd told
I met the Truth, she wasn't kind
She accused me of being blind

I put myself in hidden mode
I hide the pain, I hide the cold
I hide who I am, I hide what I like
I don't even care what's happening inside...

Change

CHANGE

Remember me as I was then;
Turn from me now, but always see
the laughing shadowy girl who stood
at midnight by the flowering tree,
With eyes that love had made as bright
as the trembling stars of the summer night.

Turn from me now, but always hear
the muted laughter in the dew
of that one year of youth we had,
The only youth we ever knew
Turn from me now, or you will see
What other years have done to me.

Sara Teasdale

1º dia do ano...

1º dia do ano... poderia ter sido bom mas foi horrível por escolha própria, assim como os outros dias... e os outros anos.
Nostalgia de um tempo nada bom, mas a minha inocência ainda estava lá e disso eu sinto muita falta.
Tempos em que eu era tão estúpida quanto hoje...