![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
февраль 2005 |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |

Set list:
Black Death
Christ
Belgrade child
Dread!
Yankee, go home!
Justice
Winter
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
Dedications: Victims of horrible bloodshed in Serbia and Iraq – «Belgrade child», «Dread!»:
That was the least I could do for you… Team Czech Republic fans in Nagano 1998 – «Yankee, go home!»: Just can’t forget that hockey quarterfinal victory and that banner still. Thanks: Olja Chrome for leading my poetry out of my own dead season.
Nobel House for the rush publishing and promotion of my “Justice” single. Metallica and Pink Floyd for the sparks of inspiration. And everyone else, who can declare that he’s my die-hard fan… at least, fibbing. Like see you on tour or something! |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
||||||
![]() |
(Part 1: Young winter) Winter’s back! Winter’s back at last! Falling flakes, snowballs fly fast, Frisking kids are making happy throng – What a day, awaited so long! [children laughing] Laugh is heard right from every side, Down hill in a sleigh kids ride – Left behind dull November rust, Winter’s back! Winter’s back at last! (Part 2: Broken childhood) Though was grown up in streets, I was kind son: One who nicely plays with kids, Always having fun. But my Father gone one day, Leaving only debts – Poverty, no funds to pay, That’s how life upsets. [aggressive screaming] Fuck your system, politicians, Selfish stupid nerds! Building paying coalitions, Lying till last words! Where have you been when I First time broke the law? No one ever asked me why? No body – what for? Government was caring not Of the poor ones. Moved to district, known as hot – Got to get the guns. Getting on with street gang’s crew, I was led astray, But was nothing I could do, No other way… (Part 3: Error) Mother’s getting badly weak, Need more drugs or she gets sick – For the money now I seek… Deal’s coming on! Someone’s struggling for a dollar, Others fighting for huge stock – Forced by greed or due to squalor, Daily men guns cock and cock. No luck to run on tick, But when came big buts to lick, Got a chance some cash to pick… Deal’s coming on! System’s wrong – it hearts as splinter: Everything is bought and sold. This is everlasting winter: Daily world is dark and cold. Task’s not hard for the first one: Rob bank quickly and then run, In a sec with plunder gone – Deal’s coming on! Down fatal system error Damp society fast takes: Rapes and murder, acts of terror Are political mistakes! [pistols shooting] Somebody might find it fun: Threatening cashier with gun – Seems, like clearly we’ve done… Or there’s something’s wrong? (Part 4: Unforeseen) One sold his friends for money and came off neat and clear – An ambush, skirmish, running and cops are so near… Whatever you are doing, consider a betrayal: You close your eyes on something and everything will fail. [hard breathing] Exhausted, persecuted and haunted to the corner – And thus the deal ended without any honour… Whatever you are doing, consider a betrayal: For single time you’ve missed it – you going to the jail. (Part 5: Sorry, mama…) [followed by cell’s echo] I’m so sorry, mama! My life is just disorder, I used to cross the border, But don’t think that I groan… This fucking shit is drama! For you it’s so wrongly: For nothing you turned lonely, As I left you alone. Will you forgive me, mama? As I have let you down, My sorrow I can’t drown, I should have not joined pack… But I can’t stand this drama! I must get out quickly, Or am I not too slickly? I promise, I’ll be back! (Part 6: Dead winter) [crunching snow] Heavy boots to force through snow, Boilersuit and hood; Twisting, stumbling, falling low, Running fast to wood. [yelling and shooting] Yelling’s heard not far behind, Following the trace. Snowstorm is making blind, Wind blows straight in face… But a shot in my back, Forces blood on my dress, As it’s bullet to hack, Trying me to suppress… Heavy boots to stick in snow, Feet to lose the step… Couldn’t make it, couldn’t, no! Drops of streaming sap… Go down onto knees – Grimace of cold pain… Mama, whether you will miss Son who’s gone in vain? [body falling] There’s a shot in my back, There is blood on my dress, There is oxygen lack, It’s a chest under press… There’s the last winter sec, There is requiem mass, There is snow turning black, It’s a heart beating less… |
![]() |
||||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
Poems, texts, conception, design and arrangements were created by Fjodor Chrome and are his own property.
The original copyrights on every poem and on the whole «Dead Season» project are internationally registered.
Unauthorized copying or other copyright infringements are strictly prohibited and illegal!
(c) By Fjodor Chrome in 2005.
Cr.
The original copyrights on every poem and on the whole «Dead Season» project are internationally registered.
Unauthorized copying or other copyright infringements are strictly prohibited and illegal!
(c) By Fjodor Chrome in 2005.
Cr.