Crystal Waves Lyrics

I propose, with a steady voice, to declaim in loudest tones the cold and sober offering you are about to hear. Pay heed to what it contains, and beware of the painful impact it will not fail to leave like a blight on your disordered imaginations. Do not believe I am on the verge of death (even though I might very well be), for I am not yet a skeleton, and old age cleaves not to my brow (and yet it starts taking the role of an unwanted companion). Now we consequently wave aside any idea of comparison with the swan of golden origin at the moment when its life flies off, and before you behold a mere monstrosity whose face I am glad you cannot see, but the face is less horrible than the spirit (but the face is less horrible than the spirit). Not long ago I saw the sea again and trod the decks of ships, and my memories are as fresh as if I'd left the sea only yesterday. Nevertheless, if you can, on listening to what I already regret offering you, be as calm as I, and do not blush at the though of what the human heart is.

Ye who have not witnessed the foundering of a ship in the eye of a storm while the brilliance of lightning alternates with the most profound darkness and the souls on board are overcome with the despair you know so well, knows nothing of the tragedy of life. Imagine a grand universal shriek of agony escaping from the vessel's buried hull, while the sea relentlessly increases the assault. A cry to beautifully embody the human strength, giving in to its demise. One each man enfolds himself in the garment of resignation and commits his soul into the hands of God. A pitiful bunch, clinging together like a flock of sheep, one distressed ship roars its tunes of anguish, and majestically she sets into the dark.

Spirit of the silken glance! Your soul is inseparable from mine; most handsome inhabitant of the sphere that you call yours. And you are nobly enthroned, by common consent and perennial bond, the sweet virtue of every grace and divine communion.
Why are you not with me...? Your quicksilver belly against my breast of aluminum, both of us seated on some rock by the shore, to meditate upon this spectacle I adore...

Old Ocean, with your Crystal Waves you resemble the icy pale lines an unfortunate soul might be given a swift distorted glimpse upon, after having spent hours, days and months at the mercy (if one wants to call it so) of their torturer.
You are a colossal azure bruise slapped on the body of earth. At first sight of you, a long-drawnout sigh of sadness (of sadness) that one might believe to be the murmur of your mellow breeze passes over the deeply disturbed esprit (the deeply disturbed esprit), leaving harrowing scars for the ages, and you remind your lovers (though they don't always bear it in mind) of man's crude origins, when he became acquainted with the sorrow that is never to desert him. Your harmoniously spherical form that rejoices the grave face of geometry reminds me overmuch of man's tiny eyes - akin to the peccary's in minuteness and to those of the nightbirds in their circular perfection (in their circular perfection) of contour (of contour). Yet down the ages man has deemed himself beautiful, oh so ignorant of his excruciating peradventure, so adversarial towards that ravishing divineness of yours.

Old Ocean, you are the symbol of identity: always equal unto yourself. In essence, you never change, even with waves in a deuce of a stir somewhere, farther off you're in absolute and complete tranquility. You are not like man - who stops in the streets with delight to watch two deadbeats tearing each other apart, but does not stop when a funeral passes, who does not bat an eyelash in the finite face of extinction (in the finite face of extinction). Who in the morning is affable, yet in the evening ill-humoured. Who laughs today and weeps tomorrow (who laughs today and weeps tomorrow). Who loves today and hates tomorrow.