WHITE LANDS OF EMPATHICA

The end.

The songwriter's dead.

The blade fell upon him

Taking him to the white lands
Of Empathica
Of Innocence
Empathica
Innocence

HOME

The dreamer and the wine

Poet without a rhyme

A widowed writer torn apart by chains of hell

One last perfect verse

Is still the same old song
Oh Christ how I hate what I have become

Take me home

Getaway, runaway, fly away
Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world
Forgive me
I have but two faces
One for the world
One for God
Save me
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world

My home was there 'n then
Those meadows of heaven
Adventure-filled days
One with every smiling face

Please, no more words
Thoughts from a severed head
No more praise
Tell me once my heart goes right

Take me home

Getaway, runaway, fly away
Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world
Forgive me
I have but two faces
One for the world
One for God
Save me
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world

THE PACIFIC

Sparkle my scenery

With turquoise waterfall

With beauty underneath
The Ever Free

Tuck me in beneath the blue
Beneath the pain, beneath the rain
Goodnight kiss for a child in time
Swaying blade my lullaby

On the shore we sat and hoped
Under the same pale moon
Whose guiding light chose you
Chose you all

I'm afraid. I'm so afraid.
Being raped again, and again, and again
I know I will die alone.
But loved.

You live long enough to hear the sound of guns,
long enough to find yourself screaming every night,
long enough to see your friends betray you.

For years I've been strapped unto this altar.
Now I only have 3 minutes and counting.

I just wish the tide would catch me first and give me a death I always longed for.

DARK PASSION PLAY

2nd robber to the right of Christ

Cut in half - infanticide
The world will rejoice today
As the crows feast on the rotting poet

Everyone must bury their own
No pack to bury the heart of stone
Now he's home in hell, serves him well
Slain by the bell, tolling for his farewell

The morning dawned, upon his altar
Remains of the dark passion play
Performed by his friends without shame
Spitting on his grave as they came

Getaway, runaway, fly away
Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world
Forgive me
I have but two faces
One for the world
One for God
Save me
I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more
I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world

Today, in the year of our Lord 2005,
Tuomas was called from the cares of the world.
He stopped crying at the end of each beautiful day.
The music he wrote had too long been without silence.

He was found naked and dead,
With a smile in his face, a pen and 1000 pages of erased text.

Save me

MOTHER & FATHER

Be still, my son

You're home

Oh when did you become so cold?
The blade will keep on descending
All you need is to feel my love

Search for beauty, find your shore
Try to save them all, bleed no more
You have such oceans within
In the end
I will always love you

The beginning. 

letra da autoria de Tuomas Holopainen/written by Tuomas Holopainen

Respirar

Give me something for the pain 

Give me something for the blues 

Give me something for the pain 
When I feel I'm dangling on a hang-man's noose 

Give me something for the rain
Give me something I can use

Foi das piores semanas que tive e coisas muito feias haveria para dizer, muita saliva para cuspir muito fel para escoar de dentro mas há coisas que fazem milagres, não curam mas velam.

É o regaço de sempre, o vicio de sempre, a anestesia de sempre.

Veio devagarinho, deitou-se na minha cama e encostou o meu corpo chagado ao seu peito imenso.

Efeito

I dream of wolves

With them I run
For me she lengthened the night
I am home
I am in peace

Quente, o estômago acalmou, o redemoinho abandonou a cabeça e as minhas mãos deixaram o tom violáceo.

Mesmo com tudo a partir-se de todos os lados, mesmo sabendo que atingi níveis insuperáveis e irreparáveis, não estou desgarrada.

O velho círculo, onde cada um de nós deposita com cuidado as flores, flores que pingam, gotejam e crescem, indefinidamente, dos mistérios destas chagas que nos perseguem até se tornarem tão fundas que um dia não conseguiremos ser mais do que uma poça de sangue de onde todas elas sairão para desabrochar na perfeição e agudeza que nós nunca conseguimos atingir.

Longe, aqui.

Music is the strongest form of Magic

Foi assim que a musa me deixou, abrandada, como se me tivesse levado até aos dias em que bebia leite morno acabado de mungir pela minha mãe, da vaca preta e branca que tinha olhos grandes e da cor dos meus.

Foi isso que ela fez, esta musa sublime, abrandou-me e deitou-se junto das minhas pernas e braços abandonados e disse-me em tons universais que pairamos juntas pelos mesmos abismos, que o mundo é um sítio grande e cheio de pessoas e que, talvez, esta até seja a minha última viagem, o meu último casulo.

Está quase, contraria-me. Eu sei.

And when the day arrives

I'll become the sky

And i'll become the sea

And the sea will come to kiss me

For I am going Home

Nothing can stop me now

Ou então mesmo que seja somente pó e ao pó retorne, tenho as veias abastecidas, inchadas e suculentas da seiva desta musa sublime e, tão simples, que não quer, senão, que a ouçamos e a abracemos desnudos.

Redenção na queda

(…) it’s a cathartic experience for hopefully everybody.

You are going through universal pain together.

The pain of losing people around you, the pain of growing up and the pain of, as you grow up, learning that, actually, you don’t know anything.

 The world becomes day by day a bit more complicated place and basically is good to know that you're not alone (…) and to be able to confront the negativity in the world in general with a smile on my face, more or less.

It’s tough and it’s hard and it’s hard for everybody but it’s crazy how a person lives a zillion miles away in a place called Helsinki sits on his bed, feels something and picks up a guitar and puts that feeling into the music...

A couple of words a couple of chords and through a long process gets that thing recorded and all of the sudden the music spreads all around and what happens is that it does exactly the same what it did for the perpetrator, so to speak, it’s a weird cycle (…) at times its painful and at times its rejuvenating, hopefully both at the same time.

Quotation of Ville Valo’s interview on The digital Versatile Doom

Portanto, lay me down on a bed of roses quando morrer e que os espinhos destas se sintam em casa.