"The Funerary Dirge Of A Violinist" lyrics
Listen! Don't you hear these mad symphonies of grievance and fear?
Melancholy and despair can be sensed when we draw near
Some hear a violin sound, some others hear a man moaning in tears
These fields are haunted by nature's most sombre melodies
Suicidal white noise absorbing the essence from light, mirth and vitality
These grounds are haunted by reflections from World War II...
Arise! 1941, '42
The identity of warfare on the East Front is lugubrious
There's one soldier incapable of committing sin
Kept alive by his comrades thanks to his heavenly gift with a violin
His brilliant music so beautiful and pure...
Shining warmth upon every soldier... It helps them to endure
Breath-taking melodies consuming all hate, sorrows and fears
These magnificent tunes are like silk for their ears
And for a moment their pain disappears
But this moment will not last when they are baffled by another blast
The enemy is near. Rain of bullets killing soldiers there and here
And so the instrument of peace is being silenced by the one of war
It plays the music of the dead; music made of lead...
"I've had enough of this sickening war and it's murdering puppets!
They don't understand the language of music cannot be spoken in Death
I never took a life! Maybe now is the time to take mine
In the name of music; shall I cut my wrists or hang myself high by a violin string?
A symphonic suicide is what I shall bring!"
The enemy lies on the other side of the field
He decides to walk straight into the fire fight
Playing this dreamlike masterpiece
Every soldier stops, holds his breath
Not a single shot is being heard during an intro for his own death
And when the violin bow is being lowered at the end
Both sides simultaneously open fire
There's the corpse of the violinist lying in mud and barbed wire
These fields are haunted by the funerary dirge of a violinist
The funerary dirge of a violinist...
Can't you hear his call of Death?
Listen! Don't you hear these mad symphonies of grievance and fear?
Melancholy and despair can be sensed when we draw near
Some hear a violin sound... Others hear a man moaning in tears...
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
Melancholy and despair can be sensed when we draw near
Some hear a violin sound, some others hear a man moaning in tears
These fields are haunted by nature's most sombre melodies
Suicidal white noise absorbing the essence from light, mirth and vitality
These grounds are haunted by reflections from World War II...
Arise! 1941, '42
The identity of warfare on the East Front is lugubrious
There's one soldier incapable of committing sin
Kept alive by his comrades thanks to his heavenly gift with a violin
His brilliant music so beautiful and pure...
Shining warmth upon every soldier... It helps them to endure
Breath-taking melodies consuming all hate, sorrows and fears
These magnificent tunes are like silk for their ears
And for a moment their pain disappears
But this moment will not last when they are baffled by another blast
The enemy is near. Rain of bullets killing soldiers there and here
And so the instrument of peace is being silenced by the one of war
It plays the music of the dead; music made of lead...
"I've had enough of this sickening war and it's murdering puppets!
They don't understand the language of music cannot be spoken in Death
I never took a life! Maybe now is the time to take mine
In the name of music; shall I cut my wrists or hang myself high by a violin string?
A symphonic suicide is what I shall bring!"
The enemy lies on the other side of the field
He decides to walk straight into the fire fight
Playing this dreamlike masterpiece
Every soldier stops, holds his breath
Not a single shot is being heard during an intro for his own death
And when the violin bow is being lowered at the end
Both sides simultaneously open fire
There's the corpse of the violinist lying in mud and barbed wire
These fields are haunted by the funerary dirge of a violinist
The funerary dirge of a violinist...
Can't you hear his call of Death?
Listen! Don't you hear these mad symphonies of grievance and fear?
Melancholy and despair can be sensed when we draw near
Some hear a violin sound... Others hear a man moaning in tears...
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
The Funerary Dirge of a Violinist
Writer(s): Clemens Wijers, Dennis P V Droomers, Ivo Y G M Wijers
