Murder Tales

Blood on my Cresent Blade, for I,

my People have I Slayed.

And Cried, at the sight of the Moon,

as I was caught in the middle of the Red Typhoon.

Sad truth is but a preface,

as to wipe out this whole damn race.

Undeserving of life, murderers,

and I, murderer of murderers.

Soupa Avgolemono

Agapiti Anagnostes,
Simera tha kanoume Soupa Avgolemono. Ne kala diavasate! Isaste etimi gia afti tin sinarpastiki sintagi pou eggiite se sas ena pentanostimo ke xortastiko piato? Parte tis katsarolles sas ke ksekiname.

Ilika: 5 Potiria Zomo (apo kotopoullo, kreata i kotozomo), 1 Flintzani Rizi, 5 Krokous avgon, 1/4 Potiri ximo lemoniou, Alati, Piperi.

WARNING: Afta ta ilika ine stixiodis simmasias! Must-have gia to kathe spitiko pou sevete ton eafto tou.

Ektelesi (An ke den m'aresoun oi skotomoi, idika otan prokite gia fagito): Vazete to zomo na vrasi, prostheste to katharismeno rizi ke afiste to na vrasi anakatevontas to kata diastimata mexti na psithi. Meta katevaste tin apo tin fotia. Ktipate tous krokous ton avgon me to lemoni, to alati, to piperi ke prostheste ligo zomo stous krokous xtipontas tous sinexos. (Sas ipa pos den m'aresi i via, ma ti na kanoume, i sintagi prostazi ke emis ekteloume.) Sti sinexia rikste to migma ton avgon sti soupa ke anakatepste to gia ligo. (Den sas emathe kanis na min pezete me to fai sas?) Ean tin thelete afrati, xtipate xorista to aspradi tou avgou ke rikste to sti avgokommeni souppa. (Afto itan bonus.) Anakatepste tin ke servirete tin. (Ke edo ftasame sto pio diskolo ke stixiodi vima aftis tis xronovoras ke akros epikindinis diadikasias, to fagoma.)
Kali oreksi files ke filoi!

Mia souppa toso kala sxediasmeni ap' oles tis ptixes. Ke omos, akolouthontas apla odigies kata gramma gia tin paraskevi tou otidipote, exi os apotelesma afto pou ftiaxnis na min exi psixi. Na min exi tipota apo sena pou to plathis ke tu dinnis zoi. Merikes fores kalo tha itan na apsifoume tus kanones, vazontas tin prosopiki mas sfragida se oti kanoume, me ton diko mas ksexoristo tropo os aneksartita onta.

Reflection

Hi...
Have you ever wondered how disturbing can a reflection in moving waters be?

This is not me. This is not my face.
Do not stare. Do not approach.
It is not safe. It is not real.
I'm scared. I'm terrified.
Where shall this maddened waters push me to?
Unsteady and unpredictable, a slave to their desires.

Do you even recognise me anymore?
I do not.
Help me, I cannot take it.
I plea you don't walk away,
I'm so powerless,
so merciless and cruel...
Save me!

Stop me, before it's too late.
No one has to get hurt in the end, right?
Now Run! -No, you can't abandon me...
Hide! -I've stayed hidden for too long...
The voices, they never stop...
I do not deserve to live. -But I am not guilty yet.
My thoughts are...
What is the meaning of all this anyway?
Dead End -Or?

Maybe we can work this out.
Maybe...
But only if you stayed by my side...

Hi self.

In Distortion I Perish

A borrowed ego or a borrowed body?
Red or black the bets are set.
Tie them tight, it has been said...

"The moment they cherished and in the ashes of them a new world perished."
As if what happened was enough to protect the ones that chose to be lost.
Eyes reflecting lies laid on an infinate struggle, as if crawling through a flame,
to purify, to burn the unnesecities.
Those pests amongst the "people".

And god forbid me to say that i am tempted.
The shadow unleashed shall derive the power of creation,
for the acts and deeds depend on its form.
A valiant wisdom, an art of deception?

Attuned to the rhythm of a fluent projection
Who shall lead? Who shall leave?
"Thou hast seen, thou hast been"
Colours are made of colours
as people are made of sins
and sins are made of people,
manmade illusions to keep us spinning between the lines.
A spider that got caught up in the web of its neighbour
is indeed a sad momentum,
building up a continuation of the most bitter-painted truth.

Depictures life's blossom
What if dreams were not ciggarettes?
gradually turning into ash
piling up layer by layer.
"Enjoy" them while they lead you to a new decadence.

Then find the perfect urn for a life's memorial
and blow it all away when the time comes
if the time ever comes,
in this world freedom rarely lasts...

And I envy,
the gentle breeze of the wind
for it carries the ashes into the far away lands i've hoped for,
but im not allowed to...
I feel it, noone said that I had to understand it too.

And if i say i was never tempted to,
I would be a liar
So carry them away...
The places, and the roles of this play have been given.
After all what are we?
If I answer it would be an act of folly, a fools reply
and if i did not, a coward would I be called.
Heros are fools they say,
brainwashed puppets in the hands of masterminds.
All those fights for the ash,
of an anon's dream? - a piece of land.
Missing the breeze that melts and soothes the pain of existance.

Bend me into the given shape, if you can,
thinking does no good after all.
I could believe you if i chose to,
the art of deception...
It can hide true colours, can distort the picture
and in there I can blend in
Distort me...
A farewell to the wind, which i was not allowed to travel with...