Solefald - World Music With Black Edges lyrics

WORLD MUSIC WITH BLACK EDGES Out of Africa, Mother of the species The original tribe falling to pieces As families diverged and spread to farther lands We are the offspring of those traveling bands Back to Africa, returning to the Source Neonism revived, connecting to the Force Hear the artillery of the Solefald gunboat We bring you the rhythms and the stories unsought In Kragerø, Telemark, reporting from the fjord Tanned people row boats with children onboard Above the codfish and mackerel, below the gulls of the sky In these summers I grew up, so happy I could die Writing by the sea in Norway, Kosmopolis In the small wooden hall we wrote our « Omnipolis » Back when the mothers still walked the Earth The ones who raised and loved us from the moment of birth The Kosmopolis Crew have dressed for the tropics Back to the late 90s with the fluorescent topics They forgot « to yourself » in the device « stay true » The Total Orchestra come howling back at you The motormouth verses, the Cro-Magnon grins The Zanzibar guitar, the wild beating of skins The synth machinery, the Gedichte of gloom The choirs and organs, the ba** lines of doom Kosmopolis, it is something new Kosmopolis, I have my eyes on you Verse is the bridge, the Atlantic is the gap Shoutout to Ill Bill for bridging it with Rap Soldiers of Fortune, Heavy Metal Kings How cool to be only one of those things In 2010 « Black Metal » crossed the border In 2000 we wrote « Open the Black Metal Order » : « There are no Blacks in Black Metal, the name must be an error How did this temple of sound roar into being? Who made it the tornado it is? The bad kids are getting old but they played is not Open the Black Metal Order This is pain immortalized The future is said to be many things but I predict it to be Transatlantic Who is able to carry on through? Who is able to stay courageous? » 3rd Inhuman Music Regiment Berlin Third Rebel for short, a think tank grey as sin Metal should look martial, be as strict as it is stern In the hall of arts we made the GewaltKunstWerk burn The House of World Cultures was the place to begin The State in Time a**embled the NSK in Berlin Aesthetes in uniforms, Microstates with riding boots Democrats in leather, Anarchists in shooting suits Subcultures met and offered peaceful pledges Three days it lasted, world music with black edges L'art est le fanatisme qui oblige à la diplomatie À bas la Terreur, avant que tout ne finit KOSMOPOLIS SUD Eg hev ikkje anna å bjoda på enn emosjonell turisme Ein feit dude i batikk som dansar til ein feit beat Ein feit chick med glowstick stein på feil sh** I Goa ravar voodoofolket på strandi Du kan kjenna det, rytmen er ein dansar Du må lata musikken røra beini dine Hopp for hyggje, hopp for hugnad Hopp for glede, hopp for frygd Hopp over alt som gjer livet vondt å leva Hopp i tidi til då me dansa, syng med Vert med til byen vår, Kosmopolis Kryp inn i mitt hovud