Listen Don't you hear these mad symphonies
of grievance and fear
Melancholy and despair can be sensed
when we draw near Some hear a violin
sound others hear a man moaning in tears
These fields are haunted by
nature's most sombre melodies
Suicidal white noise absorbing the essence
from light mirth and vitality
These grounds are haunted by reflections
from World War II
Arise 1941 '42
The identity of warfare on the East
Front is lugubrious There's one
soldier incapable of committing sin
Kept alive by his comrades thanks to
his heavenly gift with a violin
His brilliant music so beautiful and pure
Shining warmth upon every
soldier It helps them to endure
Breath taking melodies consuming all
hate sorrow and fear
These magnificent tunes are like silk for their
ears And for a moment their pain disappears
But this moment will not last when
they are baffled by another blast The
enemy is near Rain of bullets killing
soldiers there and here And so the
instrument of peace is being silenced
by the one of war It plays the
music of the dead music made of lead
I've had enough of this sickening
war and it's murderous puppets
They don't understand the language of
music cannot be spoken in death
I never took a life Maybe now is the
time to take mine In the name of music shall
I cut my wrists or hang
myself high by a violin string
A symphonic suicide is what I shall bring
The enemy lies on the other side of the field
He decides to walk straight
into the fire fight playing this dreamlike
masterpiece Every soldier
stops holds his breath Not a single
shot is being heard during an intro
for his own death
And when the violin bow is being
lowered at the end both sides
simultaneously open fire
There's the corpse of the violinist lying in mud
and barbed wire
These fields are haunted by the funerary
dirge of a violinist Can't you
hear his call of death Listen
Don't you hear these mad symphonies of
grievance and fear Melancholy
and despair can be sensed when we draw
near Some hear a violin sound
Others hear a man moaning in tears
The funerary dirge of a violinist
Listen Don't you hear these mad symphonies
of grievance and fear
Melancholy and despair can be sensed
when we draw near Some hear a violin
sound others hear a man moaning in tears
These fields are haunted by
nature's most sombre melodies
Suicidal white noise absorbing the essence
from light mirth and vitality
These grounds are haunted by reflections
from World War II
Arise 1941 '42
The identity of warfare on the East
Front is lugubrious There's one
soldier incapable of committing sin
Kept alive by his comrades thanks to
his heavenly gift with a violin
His brilliant music so beautiful and pure
Shining warmth upon every
soldier It helps them to endure
Breath taking melodies consuming all
hate sorrow and fear
These magnificent tunes are like silk for their
ears And for a moment their pain disappears
But this moment will not last when
they are baffled by another blast The
enemy is near Rain of bullets killing
soldiers there and here And so the
instrument of peace is being silenced
by the one of war It plays the
music of the dead music made of lead
I've had enough of this sickening
war and it's murderous puppets
They don't understand the language of
music cannot be spoken in death
I never took a life Maybe now is the
time to take mine In the name of music shall
I cut my wrists or hang
myself high by a violin string
A symphonic suicide is what I shall bring
The enemy lies on the other side of the field
He decides to walk straight
into the fire fight playing this dreamlike
masterpiece Every soldier
stops holds his breath Not a single
shot is being heard during an intro
for his own death
And when the violin bow is being
lowered at the end both sides
simultaneously open fire
There's the corpse of the violinist lying in mud
and barbed wire
These fields are haunted by the funerary
dirge of a violinist Can't you
hear his call of death Listen
Don't you hear these mad symphonies of
grievance and fear Melancholy
and despair can be sensed when we draw
near Some hear a violin sound
Others hear a man moaning in tears
The funerary dirge of a violinist
Listen Don't you hear these mad symphonies
of grievance and fear
Melancholy and despair can be sensed
when we draw near Some hear a violin
sound others hear a man moaning in tears
These fields are haunted by
nature's most sombre melodies
Suicidal white noise absorbing the essence
from light mirth and vitality
These grounds are haunted by reflections
from World War II
Arise 1941 '42
The identity of warfare on the East
Front is lugubrious There's one
soldier incapable of committing sin
Kept alive by his comrades thanks to
his heavenly gift with a violin
His brilliant music so beautiful and pure
Shining warmth upon every
soldier It helps them to endure
Breath taking melodies consuming all
hate sorrow and fear
These magnificent tunes are like silk for their
ears And for a moment their pain disappears
But this moment will not last when
they are baffled by another blast The
enemy is near Rain of bullets killing
soldiers there and here And so the
instrument of peace is being silenced
by the one of war It plays the
music of the dead music made of lead
I've had enough of this sickening
war and it's murderous puppets
They don't understand the language of
music cannot be spoken in death
I never took a life Maybe now is the
time to take mine In the name of music shall
I cut my wrists or hang
myself high by a violin string
A symphonic suicide is what I shall bring
The enemy lies on the other side of the field
He decides to walk straight
into the fire fight playing this dreamlike
masterpiece Every soldier
stops holds his breath Not a single
shot is being heard during an intro
for his own death
And when the violin bow is being
lowered at the end both sides
simultaneously open fire
There's the corpse of the violinist lying in mud
and barbed wire
These fields are haunted by the funerary
dirge of a violinist Can't you
hear his call of death Listen
Don't you hear these mad symphonies of
grievance and fear Melancholy
and despair can be sensed when we draw
near Some hear a violin sound
Others hear a man moaning in tears
The funerary dirge of a violinist