Mystery of the White Flesh

by GANZ

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04:48
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03:40
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released October 20, 2013

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GANZ Madrid, Spain

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Track Name: Night is a Corner
May all the window lights be mine
yet in my house I'm the eyes on the street
wishing for my bookshelf and the naked light,
wishing for the room's breathe behind it's neck.

The perspective, the tiptoes, the curtain,
drive the guy in the street crazy.

Yet at home I'm the void in between this nose
and the shadow on the wall.

I wonder how this may sound from outside
while I step another foot out of myself

From time to time, when I forget to talk,
I dress up as a broken mirror
and I gush cold bibles over my head.
My head's 2 dogs fucking with haste.

Soaked I accept to store myself,
making little bubbles when shutting.
In the end it's a furious stream elbowing
because it's running out of air.

I wonder how this may sound from outside
while I step another foot out of myself

There are no windows in the morning
There are grey tree dusters caressing the facades
And heads stepping on the blood at the traffic lights
And too much light to show my hairy words

I keep walking the streets a step ahead of me
like an inertial hangover
that redraws me northeast
and knows all the costumes to say
Track Name: Bruxism
Teeth hurt more than before
and he's going to die

Teeth hurt more than before
and he's going to die

Eyes scratch eye lids
so they don't stay in darkness.
An idea sparks round and caustic
in between holes day has tightened

Night greets us sick,
naked and snarling.
Grids blur,
dogs cross invisible lines.

Stomach stretches its legs and lets the breeze
caress the sweat in between the crotch.
With sharp arms it ruins the setting
it should be rebuilt again.

And then the teeth hurt more than before.

Teeth hurt more than before
Teeth hurt more than before
Teeth hurt more than before
Track Name: Translation
I've heard a story
about old wooden people
with malnourished ideas
in between the frown

Boiling oil, the guts, sparkling hay
Boiling oil, the guts, sparkling hay

A log, well combed and maimed,
soft, plastic, it was never a tree.
A steak that was never a pig
it slides much better through the throat
A sphere without hair they have wrote
It feels so pleasant

Then a translator
speaks to us from math lights
that sprinkle our face in measured flickers.

Patient lapses
gather up the sighs with artisan hands.
Private implosions without hemorrhage.
Tears that swell but will never drop.

(Go on, go on
Go on, go on)

That's enough for now
We leave the room laying on the bed
The money on the night stand
and the floor is a mess that won't let us leave



(Go on, go on
Go on, go on)

We clean our mouths and
we leave the room laying on the bed
The money on the night stand
and the floor is a mess that won't let us leave
Track Name: Mystery of the White Flesh
Someone told me a knife as a stone
diving still into the coldest lake.
The coldest lake at the highest peak.
Quiet waves as a frozen whisper.

At the back room of my head sounds a forgotten echo
that crystallizes as tangible as a fist
But why?


And the white flesh waits for the blood.
Meanwhile there's no wound.

And the white flesh waits for the blood.
Meanwhile there's no wound.

White flesh waits for the blood
and it waits, and waits and waits.

The universe through a fault on the flesh
Where my head goes in the middle of a song,
or when I die a little bit over you.

But not a wound, there's no wound without blood.
And the white flesh waits for the blood.