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Description
This is just a little experiment of mine. I wrote this poem in May 2005 and the beginning of the music at the same time. I stumbled upon it again the other day and decided to finish it.
Thanks to Ziti for various tips.
P.S. It's in Icelandic, so don't strain yourselves trying to understand :)
©2006 - Einar Sverrir Tryggvason
Thanks to Ziti for various tips.
P.S. It's in Icelandic, so don't strain yourselves trying to understand :)
©2006 - Einar Sverrir Tryggvason
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Lyrics
Ég stend á hæðinni og horfi á skýin à suðri.
Allar áttir stefna niður á við.
Sjóndeildarhringurinn er endalaus.
Hinn grimmi daunn fáfræði leggur að vitum mÃnum. Hann stÃgur upp úr mýrinni;
mýri fávisku og vanskilnings.
Hinum megin bÃður áhyggjuleysið, vafið hálmstráum og hundasúrum.
Ég geng yfir mýrina og blotna à fæturna.
Ég missi annan skóinn en held ótrauður áfram.
Ég verð að komast burt.
Burt úr ólyktinni.
Burt úr áhyggjunum.
Burt úr fangelsi hins ritaða orðs.
Ég hnýt um fallinn félaga.
Hann missti trúna.
Ég stend aftur upp og hleyp af stað.
Ég er blautur upp að hnjám en það aftrar mér ekki.
Ilmur sóleyjanna og bláklukknanna heltekur hug minn.
Ég er svo nálægt.
Svo nálægt.
Which roughly translates to:
I stand on the hill and look to the clouds in the south. Every direction points downwards.
The horizon is infinite.
The foul stench of ignorance surrounds my senses. It comes from the swamp; the swamp of misunderstandings and wrong interpretations.
On the other side lies the land of no concerns, wrapped in grass.
I walk across the swamp and wet my feet.
I lose my shoe but carry on.
I have to get away.
Away from the stench.
Away from the worries.
Away from the prison of the written word.
I trip over a fallen friend.
He lost hope.
I get up again and start running. I am wet up to my knees but that doesn't stop me. The smell of daffodils and tulips consumes my mind.
I'm so close.
So close.
Allar áttir stefna niður á við.
Sjóndeildarhringurinn er endalaus.
Hinn grimmi daunn fáfræði leggur að vitum mÃnum. Hann stÃgur upp úr mýrinni;
mýri fávisku og vanskilnings.
Hinum megin bÃður áhyggjuleysið, vafið hálmstráum og hundasúrum.
Ég geng yfir mýrina og blotna à fæturna.
Ég missi annan skóinn en held ótrauður áfram.
Ég verð að komast burt.
Burt úr ólyktinni.
Burt úr áhyggjunum.
Burt úr fangelsi hins ritaða orðs.
Ég hnýt um fallinn félaga.
Hann missti trúna.
Ég stend aftur upp og hleyp af stað.
Ég er blautur upp að hnjám en það aftrar mér ekki.
Ilmur sóleyjanna og bláklukknanna heltekur hug minn.
Ég er svo nálægt.
Svo nálægt.
Which roughly translates to:
I stand on the hill and look to the clouds in the south. Every direction points downwards.
The horizon is infinite.
The foul stench of ignorance surrounds my senses. It comes from the swamp; the swamp of misunderstandings and wrong interpretations.
On the other side lies the land of no concerns, wrapped in grass.
I walk across the swamp and wet my feet.
I lose my shoe but carry on.
I have to get away.
Away from the stench.
Away from the worries.
Away from the prison of the written word.
I trip over a fallen friend.
He lost hope.
I get up again and start running. I am wet up to my knees but that doesn't stop me. The smell of daffodils and tulips consumes my mind.
I'm so close.
So close.
cjhoose
Very good job mixing the music with the words. It's moody, gripping,
dark.
But you do need a good mic, or at least an external mic. ;)