|
|
Dead Winter Dead
|
Style: Heavy Metal.
Year: 1995. Playtime: 52:06 |
 |
MUSICA Soundcheck: |
Votes: 5
 |
Malfet (18.06.2006 02:07:26) |  |
|
...çàþçàòü íà "Memory" áåòõîâåíñêóþ Îäó ê ðàäîñòè áûëî, êîíå÷íî, áåñïðîèãðûøíûì õîäîì. èç ñëûøàííûõ, áîëüøå ïîíðàâèëñÿ òîëüêî Edge Of Thorns. | ||
|
EdReiz (18.06.2006 00:00:11) | |
|
Ïîñëàáåå äâóõ ïðåäøåñòâåííèêîâ | ||
|
ïîïñÿòíèê (24.03.2005 07:15:42) |  |
|
Äà, ïëàñòèíêà ãäå-òî èìåííî òàê - íà 7.5. Õîðîøàÿ. | ||
|
Ïîõàáié Îïëþåâú (23.03.2005 18:26:41) | |
|
Õîðîøàÿ ïëàñòèíêà, íî... ÂÅÐÍÈÒÅ Ê ÌÈÊÐÎÔÎÍÓ ÎËÈÂÓ!!! | ||
|
Disbeliever (23.03.2005 18:22:44) | |
|
Øëåïàòü øåäåâðû ãîä çà ãîäîì íå ïîä ñèëó äàæå âåëèêèì. Àëüáîì çíà÷èòåëüíî óñòóïàåò äâóì ïðåäûäóùèì è òåì íå ìåíåå... | ||
|
|
TRACKLIST: |
|
01. Overture (Instrumental) - 1:49 02. Sarajevo - 2:26 03. This Is The Time - 5:39 04. I Am - 4:32 05. Starlight - 5:38 06. Doesn't Matter Anyway - 3:47 07. This Isn't What We Meant - 4:12 08. Mozart and Madness (Instrumental) - 5:01 09. Memory (Dead Winter Dead Intro) (Instrumental) - 1:18 10. Dead Winter Dead - 4:16 11. One Child - 5:13 12. Christmas Eve (Sarajevo 12/24) (Instrumental) - 3:12 13. Not What You See - 5:03 Total: 52:06 |
|
|
LYRICA: |
|
SAVATAGE 95 = DEAD WINTER DEAD = A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic. (Josef Stalin) In the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo, there’s a town square surrounded by buildings that were constructed during the middle ages. The square has a beautiful stone fountain at its center and at one corner there’s a thousand year old church with a gargoyle carved into its belfry. Now this gargoyle, for the last thousand years, has spent all his time trying to comprehend the human emotions of laughter and sorrow. But even after a millennium of contemplation, these most curious of human attributes, remain a total mystery to our stone friend. (Sarajevo) Our story begins in the year of 1990, the Berlin wall has just fallen, Communism has collaleaders had described but rather a path to mutual oblivion, he decides right then and there that, ne can no longer be a part of this, that you cannot build a future on the bodies of others. (One Child) At the first opportunity, he resolves that he will desert. Sitting in his bunker on December 24th he listens to the sounds of Christmas carols from the old cello player mingling with the sounds of war. Karrina on other side of the battle-field is also listening. (Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24) It had just stopped snowing and the clouds had given way to reveal a beautiful star filled sky, when suddenly the cello players music abruptly ceases. Fearing the worst, Serdjan and Karrina both do something quite foolish, and from their respective sides, start to make their way across no-man’s land, toward the town square. Arriving at the exact same moment, they see one another. Instictively realizing that they’re both there for the same reason, they do not start to fight, but instead, together, walk slowly over to the fountain. There they find the old man lying dead in the snow, his face covered with blood, his cello lying smashed and briken by his side. Then without warning, a single drop of liquid falls from out of the cloudless sky, wiping some of the blood off the old man’s cheek. Serdjan looks up, but can see nothing except the stone gargoyle, high up on the church belfry. Overcome by what he has seen this night, he decides that he must leave this war immediately. Turning to the Muslim girl he ask her to come with him, but now all she sees is his Serbian uniform. Pouring out his feelings he explains that he is not what she thinks is. (Not What You See) Eventually winning her to his side, they leave the night together. OVERTURE SARAJEVO In this town of Sarajevo there’s an old medieval square. There’s a church aside one corner, most believe was always there. It was built a thousand years before, any now were born and its glory was its belfry with its stones all gray and worn. Now there’s a gargoyle on that belfry and he’s been up there for years and he has watched and he has pondered what is laughter, what are tears. For these perculiar institutions that are so well known to man when your heart is made of stone are quite hard to understand. And he’s never found his answers as he sees the years go by. But he watches and he wonders with his stone unblinking eyes. It was the year of nineteen-ninety and the Berlin wall was down and a thousand years regretted now laid buried in the ground. And the promphets read the future and the omens all seemed kind. In the classic words of Dickens it surely was, the best of times. THIS IS THE TIME (1990) Watching in silence I hesitate. It was not in the plan, all of our lives we could only wait if was not in our hands. And every war wher we took the day. They were all in our head and though in the dark we could dream at night. They were better unsaid. But this is the time and this time is the place and these are the signs that we must embrace. The moment is now in all history. The time has arrived, this is the one place to be. We placed our years in the hourglass. They were never unearned. Still we seemed destined to watch them pass, it was never our turn. But this is the time and this is the place and those are the years that we must erase. The moment is now in all history, if we had to choose this is the one place to be. And a wind came across Europe that would twist and turn our fate for as well as bringing freedom. It had let loose men of fate. Now these men were few in number and the people threw them out but in the mind of each man’s neighbour they had planted seeds of doubt. I AM (THE ANSWER YOU SEEK) I see a little man sitting and he’s wondering if over his little plot. He might be king and he finds his present world a little boring.There’s no land that is so small that it cannot divide. So come, I’ll draw the line and you just pick your side. Ignoring anyone who gives a warning. * For I am the answer you seek The dream in your sleep You never wanted to awaken I have the plan that won’t fail, The crime without trail and all I really need right now is you. I see a little man thinking that he might need more and so his eyes are drifting to the house next door and he wonders if his neighbours, might be leaving. So he makes a little offer that they’ll understand. There’s no point in letting things get out of hand for no one wants to see their widows grieving. * For I am the word without deeds, the lie that exceeds for lies are always impatient. I’m the guide for the lost who never asks cost and all I really need right now is you. I see a little man sitting and he’s wondering. (2x) All I really need right now is you (3x) In every book of history it’s written now it’s done. If you want to change the world you need only change the young. And Serdjan Aleksic stared deeply through the night but your vision’s not the same when you’re staring through a sight. And a rifle’s not enough when you don’t wish others will. So he angled out his mortar and he dropped in his first shell. STARLIGHT We never fear the night, we bring our own starlight, dropped on the world below. Wait for the afterglow. And in the dark they wed, we’re dancing with the dead. And if the ground’s been stained colors ruin in the rain. * Run away, no delay, do we have to show you? Don’t expect mercy yet, we don’t even know you. Hear the press, nothing less saying that we don’t care.Understand, it’s the land and you’d have to be there. We never contemplate, we only offer fate and in the night they arc, flowering in the dark. Filling the sky with red till all their needs are fed. Then like childhood tear, they quickly disappear. * In the world of death and murder they’re those who do the deed but waiting in the shadows, are the men who sewed the seeds? They make their thirty-pieces selling guns to all who pay and when bullets pierce the flesh they’re safely far away. And back in Sarajevo a girl stood inside a room listening to men called merchants offer guns to forestall doom. They said they came to help when Muslims plight they’d heard but what they had. Somehow failed to mention was they said the same things to the Serbs. DOESN’T MATTER ANYWAY It don’t matter what you said in the mind of some one you’re now dead. And what makes it bad is there living next door? So you’ll need some weapons and that’s what I’m here for. Seems we got us a war. Ak-47, Tom Cat, F-11, hardly ever used. Tell me what am I bid? You on the back wall, this is it last call. Better buy’em now or you’ll wish that you did. You’ll wish that you did. * I know, you know in this world you gotta pay. It’s all for sale. What’s your side you couldn’t say. It doesn’t matter anyway. Claymore land mines, anti-personal kind, good for marking borders and they’re easy to hide. Buried once in the ground only one way they’re found. Another fine product we deliever with pride. We’ll make a deal on the side. M-ones, Ammo Too, Stringer missiles, got a few. Better get’em now while we have’em in store. Good for a last stand, straight out of Afghanistan. If you never use’em till your next civil war. ‘Cause that’s what they’re for. * The old man had toured the Earth, playing cello for the learned of a thousand foreign cities. Only now he had returned to the city he had left once to the place where he was raised. In the house where he was born in at the fires he now gazed. THIS ISN’T WHAT WE MEANT We dared to ask for more but that was long before. The nights began to burn. You would have thought we’d learned you can’t make promises, all based upon tomorrow. Happiness, security are words we only borrow. * For is this the answer to our prayers? Is this what God has sent? Please understand this isn’t what we meant. The future couldn’t last. We’ve nailed it to the past with every word a trap that no one can take. Back from all the architects who find their towers leaning and every prayer we prayed at night hpsed and for the first time since before the Roman Empire, Yugoslavia finds itself a free nation. Serdjan Aleskovic, cannot believe his good fortune to be alive and young at such a moment. The future and the happiness of all seem assured in what most surely must be “ the best of times “. (This Is The Time) However, even as Serdjan celebrates with his fellow countrymen, there’re little men with little minds, who are already busy sewing the seed of hate between neighbours. (I Am) Young and impressionable, Serdjan, joins some of his friends in a Serbian Militia Unit and eventually finds himself in the hills outside of Sarajevo, firing mortar shells, nightly, into the city. (Starlight) Meanwhile in Sarajevo itself Karrina Brasic, a young Muslim girl finds herself buying weapons from a group of arms merchants and then joining her comrades firing into the hills around the city. (Doesn’t Matter Anyway) The years pass by and it’s now late November, 1994. An old man, who had left Yougoslavia many decades before, has now returned to the city of his birth, only to find it in ruins. As the season first snowfall begins, he stands in the town square, looks towards the heavens and explains that when the Yougoslavians prayed for change, this is not what they had intended. (This Isn’t What We Meant) As the old man finishes his prayer, the sun begins to set and the first shells of the evening’s artillery barrage are starting to arc overhead. But instead of heading for the shelters with the rest of the civilians, he climbs atop the rubble that used to be the fountain and taking out his cello, starts to play Mozart as the shells explode around him. From this night forward he would repeat this ritual every evening. And every evening Serdjan and Karrina, each find themselves listening to the thoughts of Mozart and Beethoven as they drift between the explosions and across no-man’s land. (Mozart and Madness) Though the winter does its best to cover the landscape with a blanket of temporary innocence, the war only escalates in violence and brutality. (Dead Winter Dead) One day in late December, Serdjan, on a patrol into Sarajevo, come s across a schoolyard where a recent exploding shell has left the ground littered with the bodies of young children. It’s one thing to drop shells into a mortar and quite another to see where they land. Long after Serdjan returns to his own lines, he cannot get the faces of the children out of his mind. Realizing that what he has been participating in this not the glorious nation building that their ONE CHILD One child stood before the altar, one child stood out in the rain, one child spent his time imaging and I don’t believe he’s coming home again.Home again, home again, home a... * Right there in the Earth I’ve been drawing a line. I’m digging it deep, don’t know if I’ll find a tunnel out so we all can be saved? If not just take that earth and bury me ‘cause this will be my grave. One child hid inside the darkness, one child never said a thing, one child closed his eyes andas somehow lost its meaning. * A long time ago when the world was pretty, standing right here in a different city. They’re not coming back anymore, they’re not coming back any... * Then he climbed atop the rubble of the fountain in the square and he took his cello out in the cold november air. And as the twilight started setting on the remnants of this day, as the shells began to fall, the old man began to play. And in the darkness of that night each on their own respective sides the Muslim and the Serb would watch their country’s suicide.But now inside each evening they had found a moments calm when they’d hear the thoughts of Mozart as they filtered through the bombs. MOZART AND MADNESS (Instrumental - The old man plays his cello as the shelling starts. The orchestra comes in representing the Muslims, followed by the band representing the Serbs, during the occasional lulls, in the fighting, the lone cello drifts across the battlefields.) SAVATAGE 95 = DEAD WINTER DEAD = A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic. (Josef Stalin) In the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo, there’s a town square surrounded by buildings that were constructed during the middle ages. The square has a beautiful stone fountain at its center and at one corner there’s a thousand year old church with a gargoyle carved into its belfry. Now this gargoyle, for the last thousand years, has spent all his time trying to comprehend the human emotions of laughter and sorrow. But even after a millennium of contemplation, these most curious of human attributes, remain a total mystery to our stone friend. (Sarajevo) Our story begins in the year of 1990, the Berlin wall has just fallen, Communism has collapsed and for the first time since before the Roman Empire, Yugoslavia finds itself a free nation. Serdjan Aleskovic, cannot believe his good fortune to be alive and young at such a moment. The future and the happiness of all seem assured in what most surely must be “ the best of times “. (This Is The Time) However, even as Serdjan celebrates with his fellow countrymen, there’re little men with little minds, who are already busy sewing the seed of hate between neighbours. (I Am) Young and impressionable, Serdjan, joins some of his friends in a Serbian Militia Unit and eventually finds himself in the hills outside of Sarajevo, firing mortar shells, nightly, into the city. (Starlight) Meanwhile in Sarajevo itself Karrina Brasic, a young Muslim girl finds herself buying weapons from a group of arms merchants and then joining her comrades firing into the hills around the city. (Doesn’t Matter Anyway) The years pass by and it’s now late November, 1994. An old man, who had left Yougoslavia many decades before, has now returned to the city of his birth, only to find it in ruins. As the season first snowfall begins, he stands in the town square, looks towards the heavens and explains that when the Yougoslavians prayed for change, this is not what they had intended. (This Isn’t What We Meant) As the old man finishes his prayer, the sun begins to set and the first shells of the evening’s artillery barrage are starting to arc overhead. But instead of heading for the shelters with the rest of the civilians, he climbs atop the rubble that used to be the fountain and taking out his cello, starts to play Mozart as the shells explode around him. From this night forward he would repeat this ritual every evening. And every evening Serdjan and Karrina, each find themselves listening to the thoughts of Mozart and Beethoven as they drift between the explosions and across no-man’s land. (Mozart and Madness) Though the winter does its best to cover the landscape with a blanket of temporary innocence, the war only escalates in violence and brutality. (Dead Winter Dead) One day in late December, Serdjan, on a patrol into Sarajevo, come s across a schoolyard where a recent exploding shell has left the ground littered with the bodies of young children. It’s one thing to drop shells into a mortar and quite another to see where they land. Long after Serdjan returns to his own lines, he cannot get the faces of the children out of his mind. Realizing that what he has been participating in this not the glorious nation building that their w that it’s all that you see. No life’s so short that it never learns. No flame so small that it never burns, no page so sure that it never turns. * Can you live your life in a day putting every moment in play. Never hear a word that they say as you watch the wheels go around. Tell me if you win would it show in a thousand years who would know, as a million lives come and go on this same piece of ground. I’ve been waiting, I don’t understand what you want me to be. It’s the dark you’re hating, it’s not who I am but I know that it’s all that you see. Tell me would you really want to see me leave this night without you. Would you ever look about you wondering where we might be. New York is so far away now. Tokyo, Berlin and Moscow, only dreams from here but somehow one day that world we’ll see. I don’t understand, I don’t understand. I swear on tomorrow if you take this chance our lives are this moment, the music, the dance and here in this labyrinth of lost mysteries. I close my eyes on this night and you’re all that I see, you’re all that I see. Then they left the square together neath the fading fires light and the gargoyle watched and wondered on that winter’s silent night. And so our story’s over and for anyone who cares as for the old gargoyle I believe that he’s still there. THE END SAVATAGE: Zak Stevens - vocals Johnny Lee Middleton - bass Chris Caffery - guitar Al Pitrelli - guitar Jeff Plate - drums Keyboards & additional vocals - Jon Oliva. Produced by Paul O’Neil. Co-Produced by Jon Oliva. Mix Engineer - Dave Whittman. Assisted by Ben Arrindell. All songs written by Oliva/O’Neil except ‘Christmas Eve’ by Oliva/O’Neil/Kinkel. Excerpts from Mozart were used in ‘Mozart and Madness’. Excerpts from Beethoven were used in ‘Dead Winter Dead’. Based on story by Paul O’Neil. Our best wishes to Steve Wacholz and Alex Skolnick. Mastered at Absolute Audio by Leon Zervos. (p) & © 1995 Savatage disappeared but at night I still can hear him whispering, whispering, whisper... * # I’ll believe in you if you still want me to or tell me I’m on my own. There on your other side, tell me the Pilate’s died and we’re no longer alone. Take your answers and your promises, believe me I don’t care. I’ve held on to your words until I found them only air. What good are your promises if you can always take them back. Still I’ve hang on every word till my hand are bleeding. # We had no choice but to stay and follow. We have nothing left except tomorrow. We have nothing left except what will be. What we need there are some real decisions while you only offer mindless visions, visions that no one else here can see. We’re on our own, we’re on own, we’re on our... * Now though the old are off forgotten they tend not to forget and the old man came each night and played his soul And who will love the incest child of ignorance and hatred? Who though she’s standing in the rain, no tear has penetrated for while they banter bout their words. You must be careful where you tread for no matter what they promise, rumor’s that dead is dead. MEMORY (DEAD WINTER DEAD INTRO) DEAD WINTER DEAD Feel the rush, feel the rush in the back of your head. Breathe it in, breathe it in, isn’t that what they said? As you stood in the night ‘neath the glow of their fires watch it burn, watch it burn, watch it reach through the night. Feel the heat, feel the heat, as you bask in its light. And the puppets hang upon their wires. *I’ve lost my way, kneel down and pray. It all decays, it takes me. Down (3x) Like Minister said (2x) Where this all has led Dead Winter Dead Can you hear what I hear in the back of your mind when you stand on the stage and they tell you its time to read words from a past you can’t remember. Gotta keep what you have. Tell me what is it for. If it made sense my friend, well then not anymore. Every dream I’m told has its December. * And when he came upon the school yard there were bodies on the floor. Every war must have it’s bodies but this my friends was so much more for the mind gets use to bodies whether singly or in piles but its cuts the mind more deeply when the body is a child’s. c’s regret. But this night the sound cut deeper as if the soul itself would leave for snow covered the ground and the night was Christmas Eve. CHRISTMAS EVE (SARAJEVO 12/24) (Instrumental - the old man has been returning every night since November and playing his music, as if to prove that the soul of his country, of humanity, wasn’t dead.) When the shells had ceased their falling the young Muslim and the Serb listened for the old man’s music but now not a note was heard. And fearing what had happened each did, what should not be dared and made their way through no man’s land to the old medieval square. They arrived at the same moment in the cold December air but neither pulled a weapon for each knew why they were there. And they walked over to the fountain and found him laying there in death. There was blood upon his face, the smashed cello on his chest. But then a single drop of liquid fell from out the cloudless sky and it fell upon the cheek of the man who had just died. And the soldier felt a shudder for the worst had come he feared when the only sign of pity was a single gargoyle’s tear. He turned to the young woman and he said ‘Let’s leave this war’ but a soldier and his uniform was all that she now saw. NOT WHAT YOU SEE No life’s so short it can’t turn around, you can’t spend your life lying underground for from above you don’t hear a sound. * And I’m out here waiting. I don’t understand What you want me to be. It’s the dark you’re hating, it’s not who I am But I know that it’s all that you see. No life’s so short that it never learns. No flame so small that it never burns, no page so sure that it never turns. * Can you live your life in a day putting every moment in play. Never hear a word that they say as you watch the wheels go around. Tell me if you win would it show in a thousand years who would know, as a million lives come and go on this same piece of ground. I’ve been waiting, I don’t understand what you want me to be. It’s the dark you’re hating, it’s not who |
|
|
MUSICA SEARCH: |
|
|
MORE SEARCH: |
| ||||
|
|
|
E-mail additions and amendments for these pages to:
musica@mustdie.ru
