Lyrics of Buccolision / The Mistaken One - Part II (Geography Is Just A Symptom) - Overmars

Buccolision / The Mistaken One - Part II (Geography Is Just A Symptom) (original)

A l’ombre du reflet de ce miroir à angle obtus
Récolter la semence du plus beau de nos pendus
Des jeunes filles en fleurs à foison de nos rêves
De langueur et d’amour doucement sur nos lèvres
A jamais couché sous des essaims de balles
Sans la sensation supplicière de se sentir sale
L’optique par le trou pour l’iris blottit
Dévisage sa victime par un regard meurtrit
Seule et frêle aux accents exorbités et exsangues
Enivré des relents d’un indésirable étrange
en glandes exocrine aux exsudats malsains
qui le chérit tout haut et le porte en son sein
Tradução p/ Inglês: BUCCOLISION
Standing in the shadow of this obtuse-angled mirror’s reflection
Harvesting the seeds of our prettiest hangman
Young girls in the prime of life galore, in our dreams
Of languor and love, on our lips, softly
Without the torturous sensation of filthiness
Optic through the hole where the iris huddles
Stares at its victim with heartbroken eyes
Drunk with the stale smell of an undesirable strangeness
Of exocrine glands and unhealthy exudations
Which cherishes it aloud and carries it in its womb.
The Mistaken One (Geography is Just a Sympton) (part II)
I am the mistaken one, once again.
And so is the ocean.
So is this ocean I have to fight, but we’re not fighting in the same league.
All this seems so useless.
So senseless.
I won’t fight this time, tired to get insane.
Geography is just a symptom.
Five summers of a recurrent dance, on the rhythm of fear, anger and
misunderstanding stopped harassing me.
A new season for sharks.
I know most of them, most of their habits but shadows of newcomers are getting
closer.
Nevermind potential bites, I’ll keep on swimming.
A new season for a dive.
Determined to hit rock bottom, escaping waves and streams.
Consciously.
I am the mistaken one, once again, embracing the ocean.
Kissing you for a last breath.
Kissing you for a lost dream.

(translation)

In the shadow of the reflection of this obtuse mirror
Collect the seed of the most beautiful of our hanged
Flower maidens galore of our dreams
Of languor and love gently on our lips
Never slept under swarms of bullets
Without the torture feeling of feeling dirty
The optic through the hole for the iris nestles
Stares at his victim with a bruised gaze
Alone and frail with bulging and bloodless accents
Intoxicated by the hints of a strange undesirable
in exocrine glands with unhealthy exudates
who cherishes him aloud and carries him in her bosom
Translation for English: BUCCOLISION
Standing in the shadow of this obtuse-angled mirror's reflection
Harvesting the seeds of our prettiest hangman
Young girls in the prime of life galore, in our dreams
Of languor and love, on our lips, softly
Without the torturous sensation of filthiness
Optic through the hole where the iris huddles
Stares at its victim with heartbroken eyes
Drunk with the stale smell of an undesirable strangeness
Of exocrine glands and unhealthy exudations
Which cherishes it aloud and carries it in its womb.
The Mistaken One (Geography is Just a Symmpton) (part II)
I am the mistaken one, once again.
And so is the ocean.
So is this ocean I have to fight, but we're not fighting in the same league.
All this seems so useless.
So senseless.
I won't fight this time, tired to get insane.
Geography is just a symptom.
Five summers of a recurrent dance, on the rhythm of fear, anger and
misunderstanding stopped harassing me.
A new season for sharks.
I know most of them, most of their clothes but shadows of newcomers are getting
closer.
Nevermind potential bites, I'll keep on swimming.
A new season for a dive.
Determined to hit rock bottom, escaping waves and streams.
Consciously.
I am the mistaken one, once again, embracing the ocean.
Kissing you for a last breath.
Kissing you for a lost dream.