the house of soul
 
official website >>> l y r i c s >>> light enclosures (2003)

the house of soul

 

album

 

0 1  R A I N

Rain on things
we left behind.
Rain everywhere.
Rain on people,
Rain on hearts.
Nothing to beware of.
I was looking for the way
to Eden and I found
a shadowy lane,
I sought safety in flight.

When life will spring out
from a sick fountain
we will hear the murmur
of the unquiet souls.
Beyond the lines
soldiers fight hand-to-hand.
Butterfly of pain, please
fly over this thirsty land.

Shady trees,
shady affairs,
shady propositions,
penetrating gaze
into a shady dealer.
Something is good to wait for,
who will purge us of safety?
Meet the madman on the way,
who has got it all wrong.

Lead the morning prayers under
an anonymity shroud,
towards another kingdom
without any traveller known
and a solitary voice
will recognize the owl,
the grace of caves, the conscious
daybook of a choice.

 

0 2  N O B O D Y ' S   M E E T I N G

Can we communicate streams of town life?
Human and killing business in the region-city.
Who can hear the new voice? I can’t extend beyond,
I know so well, I know so well the place.

Happiness is a cable in a network game.
When I play I can’t give up at all.
Prisoner I’m free, I am taken away,
is it really for fun? Just really for fun?

In a flow from the edge someone is talking,
someone comes to me and seems looking for a way.

Strange urban dream, nightmarish night
spent in gazing the suggestion of a light,
the hypnotic run on the gleaming subway,
on the empty weariness of the waves.

In a flow from the edge someone is talking,
someone comes to me and seems looking for a way.

 

0 3   T H E   S W A N ' S   C A N D L E

The place was full of people,
noisy, lively;
tables were besieged
by geographies of chairs and glasses,
of ashtrays over cotton
tablecloths,
of cigarettes boxes and lighters,
of cigarettes boxes and lighters.

Talks were increasing
in the slimy air
and it seemed to catch
the being of the world,
in a certain point of the space,
in a certain t-time
that meant completeness.
that meant completeness.

The swan’s candle, the swan’s candle,
the swan’s candle, the swan’s candle.

Under diffuse lighting,
girls leave their scent behind,
especially when they move their hair.
The place was called Radio Cabana,
clearly a meaningless name,
nothing about America or Tropics,
nothing about America or Tropics.

A finger upon her cup,
Valerie lets the glance turn
to another table
where a girl is looking around.
The girl took a candle from a table
when the wax is melting,
the candle shows a soft
and rough surface.

The swan’s candle, the swan’s candle,
the swan’s candle, the swan’s candle.

She moulded the wax with a teaspoon
putting the handle over the flame;
a thin and black smoke was rising,
a thin and black smoke was rising.
And the candle took
a spheroidal shape.
Then a swan appared
floating on the lake.

Some drops began to trouble
the cleanliness of that figure,
filling the spaces between
the head, the neck and the body.
Some minutes after
the crying swan became a pelican.
That change couldn’t be foreseen by her,
couldn’t be forseen by anybody.

The swan’s candle, the swan’s candle,
the swan’s candle, the swan’s candle.

 

0 4  T H E  T O W N S M A N' S   D R E A M

I was trying to distance myself
from the declining city lights industry,
it was Christmas,
a cold Christmas morning, in 1996.
Running on a rope of a crack cocaine,
a distant pain woke me up,
just a vague pain: the Divine mercy
breaks slavery’s chains.

When colours spread on the painting
like molten gold into the die;
when the pen moves on the paper
so that something can survive;
when volcano’s lava flows down to the valley
and modifies landscape shapes,
life suddenly has its revenge.

Sun steals my power and it’s all,
city living, policy and growing old,
all the things we made,
we have just to wait,
all the words we vainly wrote and said, and said, and said.

Who wanders in search of nonexistent riches
survives earthquakes and disasters.
Man for every season and taste,
man from the emptiness,
give me a reason, a reason to face
the society that I belong to
and communications, revelations, living and going wrong.

Sun steals my power and it’s all,
city living, policy and growing old,
all the things we made,
we have just to wait,
all the words we vainly wrote and said, and said, and said.

 

0 5  L I G T H  E N C L O S U R E S

You were a mother nature’s son
and it’s been time for important decisions.
You used to weigh every step
so as to defer the end of the day.
Northern european towns are so austere and unreal,
this journey in Copenhagen is making me feel right.

You were a mother nature’s son
and it was not because of anxiety you got wandering,
money had no value for you
you were the mirror of freedom.
In this town people speake the same language as me,
perhaps I’m not in Copenhagen, perhaps I’m nowhere at all, but it’s all right.

Look at the light enclosures,
they’re up to the end of the day.
Look at the light enclosures,
they’re visible at the end of the way.

You were a mother nature’s son
and you loved to walk through a city park at night.
Noises of traffic resounded between the trees,
people were shivering they quickened the pace.
Suddenly some boys improvised a football match,
trampling on forbidden flowers, then they disappeared forever.

Look at the light enclosures,
they’re up to the end of the day.
Look at the light enclosures,
they’re visible at the end of the way.

 

 

the house of soul  
official website >>> lyrics > > > joy, love, anger, grief & reverence (2002)

the house of soul

 

 

 

0 1  D E P R E S S I O N  S P R I N G

Lucy is walking in her yellow clothes,
Jack is seeing her from his black car,
Mary is looking at the wailing running train
she nervously moves in the sultry air.

While roaming the streets, the lights don’t strike my fancy,
coming and going always seems the same
and, in a way, it’s still. I feel I wouldn’t talk aloud
when everything is so noisy and sharp.

Lucy is slashing some dolls’ faces
by her ring’s diamond bezel
She’s simply crazy, she’s got a blue glass snake
which can’t bear any longer the clock hands’ slowness.

Different colours flow on my darkness,
I wish to touch your clothes. Oh, sweet guy
mixing mercy, pain, all our own obsessions,
we won’t hear any prises, won’t care for our souls.

0 2  D I G I T A L  R E A D I N G  H O U S E

You’re there, still, like me who wish
other words, other eyes;
warning unachieved, unusual 
like remembrances of past times.

Unexpected visitor of my heart,
do you remember the skin, our skin,
which one day we branded? You were
the sounding line of my soul that was burning.

Sometimes you motioned to a smile
in telling that our porter was funny
when he said, from his senile years:
"Good morning, good morning Miss Morrison"

and, between uncertainty
and discretion, he waved to you.
"What does it lack in our home?" - in the morning
you were asking the tree out of the window.

A plot like any other in the digital reading house;
events and lovers in the digital reading house.

I need no medium for memory,
I need no medium for love,
I’m at the middle of my journey,

Stories end and it doesn’t matter
in the digital library.
Stories of several kinds
come between and take you away.

Unexpected visitor of my heart,
I remember the skin, our skin,
when you said to the tree out of the window:
"All the stories go away".

Plots like any other in the digital reading house;
events and lovers in the digital reading house.

0 3  N E W  E C O N O M Y  O F  L O V E

In a world that changes
you were always saying
to be like a child free from blame.

Bird of fire,
bird of sacrifice
that flies over the mountains and goes by,
that flies over the mountains and goes by.

Love’s economy was a virtual game
and we were just so unreal,
love’s economy led us to nowhere
towards nothing but a play.

Look at my eyes,
they’re not a mirror
even for a child free from blame

Bird of fire,
bird of sacrifice,
you flew over the iceberg of your heart and went by,
you flew over the iceberg of your heart and then went by.

Love’s economy was a virtual game
and we were just so unreal,
love’s economy led us to nowhere
towards nothing but a play.

0 4  I N N O C E N T   G U Y

Someone was looking ’round Mr. Smith’s house, Smith was in the garden.
He was repairing an old grass-cutter, it was summer.
He was assisted by a black guy from the suburbs.
The mysterious man stopped and began to wait.

Mrs. Johnson, the woman of the next door, was goin’ home,
she stopped in conversation and then she went.
Mr. Smith and the guy went into the garage, they needed a big monkeyspanner.
The mysterious man, not seen by anyone, jumped over the house’s fence

Mr. Smith is well-known in town, ah,
he collaborates with a religious community,
he makes charity, he helps guys in trouble,
what may he fear?

"That’s the right one" - said Mr. Smith, and gave it to the guy.
The man entered the garage. "Good morning" - said Mr. Smith, very surprised.
The man didn’t talk and attacked Mr. Smith:
Mr. Smith is a well-to-do person and in the morning he’s gone to thebank.

Smith is scared and cries for help,
the guy tries to defend Smith with the monkey spanner
but the mysterious man puts the guy off.
The man hits Mr. Smith and escapes. All in a few seconds.

Mr. Smith is well-known in town, ah,
he collaborates with a religious community,
he makes charity, he helps guys in trouble,
what may he fear?

The guy tries to aid Mr. Smith
Mr. Smith is bleeding and the floor becomes bloodstained.
The guy goes out, all alone
but it’s late, Smith has gone.

The murder caused a sensation in town,
and the guy was a crack consumer,
and had some judicial precedents
because of some minor robber, just to support his vice.

Mr. Smith is well-known in town, ah,
his sons work faraway from here, ah,
he has nothing to hide, ah,
nothing to fear, nothing to fear.

Some fingerprints were found over the monkey spanner,
they were the guy’s and the victim’s ones,
the dna-analysis confirmed their suspicions.
The police arrests black boys at dawn.

His defence was entrusted to a public defender.
No witness talked about the third man.
None noticed that parked car.
None noticed the murder’s escape.

Five years have passed at least. Now it’s summer.
Tonight the judgement will be executed, justice prevails
and no one remembers the reason why,
Mrs. Johnson died some time ago, never mind...
People forgot Mr. Smith’s name and charity, never mind…
No one remembers how the guy was called, never mind, never mind…

0 5  D A N C E R  A T  D A W N

When the sun is about to rise
ev’ryone dreams
never heard thoughts
never seen things
and someone knows, oh no,
and somebody hopes, oh no.

When the air is cold
first day cars move
making a thin and strong
strong smoke groove,
in the suburbs of the town, oh no,
in the suburbs of the town, oh no.

She was poor and young,
she liked to dance;
some tatters as clothes,
she was fourteen years old,
and nobody knows, oh no,
and nobody hopes, oh no.

She celebrated the streets
with drug abuse:
after a prostitution night
she danced on the light,
in the middle of town, oh no,
at the border of dawn, oh no,
and nobody knows, oh no,
and nobody hopes, oh no.

One day I read some strange
newspaper news:
a girl dressed in white
like a dancer
was found on the river’s bank, oh no,
a stone near her head, oh no,
and nobody saw, oh no,
and nobody knew, oh no,

she danced on the water, oh no,
she she danced along the river, oh no,
Now, she dances over the town.
Now, she dances at dawn.

0 6  G L A S S   E N T R A N C E

It is not in quietness
that the city wakes up on Sunday
but in a sleepiness which,
during the morning,
lazily conquers
the quarters of the West suburbs.
Thus I found them
- it was towards noon -
in coming into the road where your house is.
Your voice had been like that
one hour before at the telephone,
asking me if I were not too whacked to reach you.
We laughed. And we laughed again
when the door of your apartment
was slowly opened.
We had lunch in the kitchen,
by the light of a neon lamp.
The quarter was passed through by the whispering of the traffic.
Mansions and streets
were anaesthetized by the autumn
and we could not talk because of a deaf light.
At the European Parliament
they were discussing about something
- the speaker of the television news explained -
and rain and country images slid,
followed by a view
on some steelworks of the place.

Glass entrance, glass entrance,
we were waiting in front of a glass entrance.

The subway’s galleries
were passing through our hearts,
we heard their noises while walking up to the surface.
At the station someone appeared
and someone else was absorbed in emptiness.
We had decided  to spend the afternoon in the city centre.
We took a walk along the docks
and then along a channel.
We arrived, nearly not being aware, to the wide steps
that separate the income
of the museum of contemporary art
from the boulevard.

Glass entrance, glass entrance,
we were waiting in front of a glass entrance.

Recalled by the teachers,
a group of students was about to enter.
Their speeches, their coloured clothes,
the umbrellas which repaired them
from a slow rain,
some playful squabbles made us curious.
Their world was far away,
their lightness
was lost long since.
In an imponderable moment
things reveal a new light
as in a metamorphosis.
The glass entrance was reflecting
our own images,
the boulevard and some distant buildings,
some small shapes on the steps.
In the hall someone was browsing
the books of the shop…

Glass entrance, glass entrance,
we were waiting in front of a glass entranc
e.

0 7  H O U S E   O N  T H E  S E A

The house on the sea is beaten by the wind
and shows some cracks on the external walls.
Darkened is the landscape, it’s cold and so am I,
weather report promises nothing good today.
It’s the beginning of life,
it’s the beginning of life.
Clouds cover our hearts, friendships vanish at all,
sand and water are turning stones in dust.
Thoughts we never told were lit by the rain
as if they were hidden nature noises.
An overflowing of mind,
an overflowing of mind
Standing in the house, standing on the beach,
crossing seas and hurricanes,
we will fly like some migratory birds
looking for the solar energy.
At the beginning of life,
at the beginning of life.

0 8  W A L K I N G  O N  T H E  L I N E

A man is walking along the promenade,
some cars break the evening silence
on the other side of the street,
from the shore no breaking wave,
listening in the dark to the missing noise,
listening in the dark to the missing noise.

Winter isn’t so hard here
but dampness plays its role
and long walking warms the body,
step by step he puts his shoes on the line,
his overcoat is plying in a rhythmic motion,
his overcoat is plying in a rhythmic motion.

Walking on the line, walking on the line,
walking on the line, walking on the line.

How many thoughts fade away through motion,
how many hopes are like autumn leaves,
so he enjoys looking at the sidewalk,
looking at the patchwork flooring,
at the waving sand carried by the wind
on the tracks of his walk,
at the waving sand carried by the wind
on the tracks of his walk.

Walking on the line, walking on the line,
walking on the line, walking on the line.

The dark ground seems a boundless space
but no star is brighting in,
the sea and the scattered cars,
the pinasters on his right,
everything is lost in the farthest border of universe,
just the blue line remains
and you beware to move
like a tightrope-walker flying in an empty space.

Walking on the line, walking on the line,
walking on the line, walking on the line.

0 9  A F T E R  T H E  M E E T I N G  C A L L

I could have nothing to tell
about the next discussion topic,
sleeping on the chairman’s desk
I’ve foreseen the right strategy.

Two hours have already passed,
in the next three hours someone could burn.

The sun peeps in through the window
lightening our shared empty thoughts,
who wants to change something in the world
could start from here.

Three hours have suddenly passed,
in the next two hours someone could burn,

now alone, now alone.

I could have nothing to tell
about the last topic,
I was dreaming on the chairman’s desk
when a cry woke me up yesterday.

Five hours have already passed, 
in the next hours any galaxy could collapse.
Five hours have already passed,
in the next hours any galaxy could collapse

and it will be all right.

 


news (ita) - news (eng) - music - gallery - home

2002-2009 © roberto ventura