Funambulist Lyrics

Song	Funambulist
Artist	Cormorant
Album	Dwellings
Download	Image LRC TXT

	None speak of the pious in history:
	Notre Dame conquered by a poète mauldit.
	Beyond France's gendarmes and butchery
	rose my twin-eyed concrete Babel staring
	down the gods.
	Stir their hearts;
	men applaud
	crime as art.
	Violent birth.
	Pile driver lances
	pierce the earth
	and bleed the clouds.
	(Walk on its veins)
	Steel and glass.
	The propance dancers
	wrap this mass
	in burning shrouds.
	(Forest of cranes.)
	New York, I adopt this child.
	Flight over the ocean,
	mind as vine to stone
	on a tower.
	Sleight of foot in motion,
	twined aroud a throne.
	I count and count the hours.
	Alea jacta est.
	Wire.
	A workman's attire.
	The years we conspired
	finally bear fruit
	this August
	mo(u)rn
	a nation forlornm
	its emperor shorn
	of august suit
	by modest blades.
	As I walk he fades.
	Crate:
	500 pound weight.
	Whisked up the freight
	to south level
	one zero
	fo(u)r
	the nightwatchman's snore,
	my skull on the floor,
	sold ot the devil
	for heroes'
	deeds.
	To the skies I lead.
	Bowman draws the string.
	Ropes and cable...
	...cling stowaway to the arrow's flight;
	at missle's point, north and south unite.
	Cordina, clamp, cavaletti, knot...
	At backbreaking dawn, the wires pull taut.
	Rope still sways.
	Winds will rage.
	Heart ablaze,
	I wage
	war
	on fate.
	Fear devoid,
	lungs inflate,
	tempt the void:
	The first step.
	Le néant.
	Vos chants, vos cris, je les entends.
	A chaque pas, le nuages s'adoucissent.
	Je danse. Elégance.
	Je me permets un sourir:
	Si je meurs, quelle mort!
	Avec les dieux à mes pieds.
	I wave, I sit, I rest, I dream.
	Speak to birds
	words of calm.
	Psalms of faith
	swathe no auspice
	wreaked by siren howls.
	Uproar from the lowland:
	the rattle of lawmen's chains.
	The lords of the northland
	cast me to the plains
	a mortal man.
	The last step.
	Nona, spin your thread.
	Join it to the Sun,
	so I may walk.
	Morta, rouse your dead.
	Tell them of the sun,
	for with me they walk.

	None speak of the pious in history:
	Notre Dame conquered by a poe te mauldit.
	Beyond France' s gendarmes and butchery
	rose my twineyed concrete Babel staring
	down the gods.
	Stir their hearts
	men applaud
	crime as art.
	Violent birth.
	Pile driver lances
	pierce the earth
	and bleed the clouds.
	Walk on its veins
	Steel and glass.
	The propance dancers
	wrap this mass
	in burning shrouds.
	Forest of cranes.
	New York, I adopt this child.
	Flight over the ocean,
	mind as vine to stone
	on a tower.
	Sleight of foot in motion,
	twined aroud a throne.
	I count and count the hours.
	Alea jacta est.
	Wire.
	A workman' s attire.
	The years we conspired
	finally bear fruit
	this August
	mo u rn
	a nation forlornm
	its emperor shorn
	of august suit
	by modest blades.
	As I walk he fades.
	Crate:
	500 pound weight.
	Whisked up the freight
	to south level
	one zero
	fo u r
	the nightwatchman' s snore,
	my skull on the floor,
	sold ot the devil
	for heroes'
	deeds.
	To the skies I lead.
	Bowman draws the string.
	Ropes and cable...
	... cling stowaway to the arrow' s flight
	at missle' s point, north and south unite.
	Cordina, clamp, cavaletti, knot...
	At backbreaking dawn, the wires pull taut.
	Rope still sways.
	Winds will rage.
	Heart ablaze,
	I wage
	war
	on fate.
	Fear devoid,
	lungs inflate,
	tempt the void:
	The first step.
	Le ne ant.
	Vos chants, vos cris, je les entends.
	A chaque pas, le nuages s' adoucissent.
	Je danse. Ele gance.
	Je me permets un sourir:
	Si je meurs, quelle mort!
	Avec les dieux a mes pieds.
	I wave, I sit, I rest, I dream.
	Speak to birds
	words of calm.
	Psalms of faith
	swathe no auspice
	wreaked by siren howls.
	Uproar from the lowland:
	the rattle of lawmen' s chains.
	The lords of the northland
	cast me to the plains
	a mortal man.
	The last step.
	Nona, spin your thread.
	Join it to the Sun,
	so I may walk.
	Morta, rouse your dead.
	Tell them of the sun,
	for with me they walk.

	None speak of the pious in history:
	Notre Dame conquered by a poè te mauldit.
	Beyond France' s gendarmes and butchery
	rose my twineyed concrete Babel staring
	down the gods.
	Stir their hearts
	men applaud
	crime as art.
	Violent birth.
	Pile driver lances
	pierce the earth
	and bleed the clouds.
	Walk on its veins
	Steel and glass.
	The propance dancers
	wrap this mass
	in burning shrouds.
	Forest of cranes.
	New York, I adopt this child.
	Flight over the ocean,
	mind as vine to stone
	on a tower.
	Sleight of foot in motion,
	twined aroud a throne.
	I count and count the hours.
	Alea jacta est.
	Wire.
	A workman' s attire.
	The years we conspired
	finally bear fruit
	this August
	mo u rn
	a nation forlornm
	its emperor shorn
	of august suit
	by modest blades.
	As I walk he fades.
	Crate:
	500 pound weight.
	Whisked up the freight
	to south level
	one zero
	fo u r
	the nightwatchman' s snore,
	my skull on the floor,
	sold ot the devil
	for heroes'
	deeds.
	To the skies I lead.
	Bowman draws the string.
	Ropes and cable...
	... cling stowaway to the arrow' s flight
	at missle' s point, north and south unite.
	Cordina, clamp, cavaletti, knot...
	At backbreaking dawn, the wires pull taut.
	Rope still sways.
	Winds will rage.
	Heart ablaze,
	I wage
	war
	on fate.
	Fear devoid,
	lungs inflate,
	tempt the void:
	The first step.
	Le né ant.
	Vos chants, vos cris, je les entends.
	A chaque pas, le nuages s' adoucissent.
	Je danse. Elé gance.
	Je me permets un sourir:
	Si je meurs, quelle mort!
	Avec les dieux à mes pieds.
	I wave, I sit, I rest, I dream.
	Speak to birds
	words of calm.
	Psalms of faith
	swathe no auspice
	wreaked by siren howls.
	Uproar from the lowland:
	the rattle of lawmen' s chains.
	The lords of the northland
	cast me to the plains
	a mortal man.
	The last step.
	Nona, spin your thread.
	Join it to the Sun,
	so I may walk.
	Morta, rouse your dead.
	Tell them of the sun,
	for with me they walk.

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