(refrain)
Aussi loin que l'oeil peut voir,
Je ballade ma rétine sur les courbes de l'histoire.
Même si sa semble dur a croire,
La map Monde ce colore a l'encre noir.
Si je regarde bien, si je gratte a la porte,
Je voit ce dessiné les traits d'une époque un peu triste,
Mais qui rêve de vivre, et vis un rêve, un équilibre que l'être humain lui enlève.
Alors que faire, quand les vent nous achève?
Nos vies sont brève lorsque la mer ce soulève.
Est-ce de ma faute, si les volcans ce réveillent,
Si la terre meurt d'être sèche où elle se noyait la veille?
Y'a-t-il un avenir pour nos fils dans la ronde?
Vivront-il en paix, devront-il mener la fronde ?
A l'heure ou les chefs on des montres a dix plaques,
Les enfant courent les rues, et ce lavent dans les flaques.
Triste sort, pour les héritiers du sort,
Les joie sont mal répartie, pire encore, le sont les tords.
Donne moi une bouffée d'air pour leur coupé l'air,
Vos tueur de liberté, les assaillir de verbes.
Quelqu'un me donnera t-il ces couleurs,
Au monde noir et blanc qui ce tord de douleur.
J'y repense, assit sur ma falaise,
Voyant montée la marée aussi vite que le malaise.
(refrain) /bis/
J'ai comme l'impression de rouler a contre sens,
Depuis des années, depuis ma naissance,
En tout prêt, au plus prêt par l'amour et la douceur,
Mais rattrapé par la violence extérieur.
Une violence qui prend les jeunes au berceau,
Les gourgons leurs fait confondre le collectif et le perso,
Perdu, l'âme du monde et a la peine,
Ne compter pas sur l'église pour lui venir en aide.
Fatigué d'entendre le Pape en Afrique,
Acclamé que l'amour de dieu rejette le plastique .
Malade, et cet écorché de la feuille incite en ces fidèles a mourir larme a l'oeil.
Nourrit d'un dogme en deuil, pour quelques mots sains,
Ecrit sur quelque feuilles,
Irresponsable, la croyance blesse,
Dans les mauvaises mains qui la laisse devenir mère de la détresse.
Quelque phrases pendant les quelles mon coeur s'embrasent,
Quelques phase, quand la goutte fait déborder le vase.
Ce monde est ainsi fait entre le vis et le bonheur,
La vertu, et la peur espérant des jours meilleurs.
(refrain) /bis/ ....
Danakil is an Italian experimental post-rock group active since 2014. Their sound is characterized by dark atmospheres and complex rhythms, influenced by electronic and ambient sonorities. The band's name derives from the Danakil region in Ethiopia, known for its desert and volcanic landscape. Among their most representative tracks are "Micro Climat", "The Sun" and "A Thousand Years". Their debut album, "Micro Climat", released in 2014, received positive reviews from the Italian music press.
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Sweden and the United States are two countries far from each other, thousands of kilometers separate them, the language, culinary and sporting traditions, I don't feel so categorical about the landscapes, not knowing all of America there may be states that have the same reliefs of the country of northern Europe, but on one thing I am sure
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