Zugló by Oaken

Zugló

Wasted flee from a cancerous city. Grey concrete. Eyes turn away from the fossils in the deep. Under these feet lays a city downwards where we should have found homes. Where past chants echo thousand lives soaked in drunken dreams. Where days end with weary heads buried in shaking rough hands. From now on I wait until I'll watch these streets burn with lawless rage. Under the concrete there is cancer and all my forefather's skull. I want to leave this place and see this house in flames.
The twenty square meter country. My home. My oxygen. It is yours as much as it is mine. We are all renting our countries I'll lend you mine.
Each year more spent to maintain my so called 'tribe'. Every moment spent with open eyes is a miracle.

***

[I daily swap my finite hours for dead time in advance and get paid by money I pass on to pay for the square meters inhabited in a concrete case, to pay its monthly bills and to pay tax not only to prove my existence but to establish my right to exist in this world at all. The mere thought that it is the way it is and that it was already way before me and my time - it bewilders me.]

***

• Punk
• crust
• downtempo
• experimental
• hardcore
• post-metal
• Budapest