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Rating: 1 August 2008, Brighton.
It’s 5 in the afternoon in Brighton. I'm at a stupid educational camp with a friend. We have half an hour free; we're at Churchill Square, in front of a huge shopping centre. We go inside, and I drag my friend into the nearest CD store. I instantly realize it's one of the biggest places I've ever entered. A goofy smile appears on my face, and I wander aimlessly. My friend swears and leaves. But I don't care, there is a sea of CDs in front of me. I spend 40 minutes searching, then a strange CD with an antique fake cover intrigues me. I pull it out. It's Down by Phil Anselmo, whom I had the chance to see just over a week before in Bologna while they were opening for MetallicA. That evening, I believe I could have generated an immense offspring from the number of times I came in my pants. Without even looking at the tracks, I buy the CD. If Phil Anselmo is on it, it's cool. Then I realize I was supposed to meet up with the others about 20 minutes ago, and, obviously showing my disappointment (which would equate to a series of swearing that would make even Mosconi pale), I head towards the college, where I get a massive telling-off from the leaders. Annoyed, I go to my room but, surprise, surprise, I only brought my iPod, no CD player. After another expression of disappointment (the nearby church's windows shattered), I kiss the CD and put it safely in my suitcase. My Precious. Throughout the rest of the evening, I try not to think about it, but my brain wants to listen to that CD, and all my thoughts are directed towards Down. I have tears in my eyes. To listen to that CD, I'll have to wait another two weeks.
Days go by, and I start suffering from hallucinations. Everyone seems like Phil Anselmo, Rex Brown, or Pepper to me. I'm going crazy. Every night at home, I caress the Precious and sleep with it, anticipating the moment when I will hear it.
At the end of the two weeks, my parents pick me up at the airport in Milan, and I beg them to listen to the CD. When finally, after a string of swearing, I find it in the suitcase and insert it, I end up on foot in Verona. I forgot that my parents can't stand metal. Damn. When I finally get home, I discover my parents are at the beach house, 40 km away, and I don't have the keys. At that point, I go mad. From being sweaty and tired, I become radioactive and swearing. I start running naked through the whole city, screaming. They say 2 old ladies died, as many men changed sexual orientation, and after a while, I found myself with a procession of nude people running after me, led by Blink 182. Once I got released from the asylum, a month later, I had a beard like Rex and still hadn't listened to the CD.
I finally get home and find the time to play the CD. I listen carefully, tension through the roof. Hey, wait a minute, but since when did Black Sabbath change their name to Down and take Phil Anselmo as their vocalist?!?!?! I'm bitter, with tears in my eyes, and I was expecting a Pantera 2!!!! Disappointed, I promise to take revenge on Phil Anselmo. At the moment, I'm organizing a jihad against him. Those who would like to join can contact me.
Tracklist and Lyrics
02 The Path (04:09)
Crawling, to the path of the righteous
Crawling, to you again, to you again
Crawling, up and down a mountain
Crawling, then up again, then up again
Could you ever admit to yourself
That you must walk in the light of the blessed
Not invited, to cry out loud
I'm a brother, stone cold truth
Love and suffer, Siamese cult
Left divided, so I trudge on now
Could you ever admit to yourself
That you must walk in the light of the blessed
Not invited, to cry out loud
I'm a brother, stone cold truth
Love and suffer, Siamese cult
Held divided, so I trudge on
Eyes wide to reality
Crawling, up and down a mountain
Crawling, to you again
Eyes wide to reality
Crawling, up and down a mountain
Then up again
Eyes wide to reality
Crawling
I'm crawling
I'm crawling to you
04 I Scream (03:48)
All scorn me, a monster should be feared
witch hunt blame
regret and damn the day
I Scream
Fallen leaves, from the same family tree
wind blown halves
regret is all that's left...all that's left
Words cut deeply, (there is) no secrecy
So long since seeing, my lifetime appealing
The two are not healing
I cannot help feeling regret, REGRET
Reflecting on our memories
WE KNOW THE PAINS OF LIVING
and I know HE'S seeing both of we
REGRET HE WOULD NOT WANT TO BE
I Scream
07 Mourn (04:43)
Hotel room of doom
I can't find a clue
Confusion, broken hearted woe
Sheets and pillows soaked
My telephone seems broken
I'm calling crucified
Blacklisted no reply
BE MY EYES
Stole my sight
But not my heart
I miss my 2nd home
(Your) adopted son doth mourn
Sermon served in praise
In a sacred empty space
Pit no ones sorrows against your own
Seven days in vain
The last three spent enflamed (in prayer)
I stand crucified
As they're stricken blind
BE MY EYES
Stole my sight
But not my heart
Missing the lone state home
My blood runs cold
I Mourn
08 Beneath the Tides (05:31)
setting sail
from a crushed rooftop
fathoms deep
shallow as a raindrop
attempt to feel
20/20 now
react like gasoline
cornered by a house fire
you can't come clean beneath the tides of the washout
cut from the filthy cloth
a sucking wound left in our chests
being burned around the heart
the boil under your flesh
hidden at home
chasing a tucked tail now
acting on the instinct
of self haphazard yet
you can't come clean beneath the tides of the washout
THE SHAVING DOWN
IN MILLIGRAMS
WITH A GUN IN YOUR HAND
DIRECTIONLESS
MEMORIES
OF COMBAT ON YOUR HEAD
RAIN CAN'T SOAK WHAT IS NOT HERE...
the first thrill
demands another
consequence
the trigger of the
operative playing russain roulette with a full chamber
miserable outcome
one and the same
you can't come clean beneath the tides of the washout
10 Pillamyd (05:14)
Been to this place before, an excavation
Scrawling a name again
Touch stony face restored, can't read the name
Collapsible fingertips
Weeping within the hot of desert weeps
To brood inside the skull of wax of time
Taking no step alone until you can
Crying on the downed stones
PILLAMYD
By handfuls you will build, a pillamyd
Lust in the vessel head, working with slaves
Dust in the eyes of men
OFFER NOCTURNAL PRAYER, ALTER ABLAZE
MAGIK OBTAINED, DECIPHERING PAIN
Moving inside you when you seem asleep
Influence all to step beyond the gate
When you're slipping in preservative
Hydro-glyphic downed stones
PILLAMYD
By handfuls you will build a pillamyd
Pillamyd built, pillamyd guilt, INSIDE
IT'S ETCHED IN STONE
PILLAMYD
By handfuls you will build a pillamyd
11 In the Thrall of It All (06:20)
Go slow
Cruel to himself and generous about it
Cruel to the world (it's) not hard to spot it
Can't give up
Shut up
On a tirade
Off the top of his head
So ripe becoming rotten
He's hit the wailing wall
To pass out hard upon
He's kissed the wailing wall
In the thrall of it all
Failed his name with no care to hide it
Failed escape it's documented
Instilled or distilled
The spike or the chill
It's immolation
The lust of non-existence
He's hit the wailing wall
To pass out hard upon
He's kissed the wailing wall
In the thrall of it all
Headstone tells but nothing about him
Headstone reads two decades wasted
A funeral pyre
With no one to burn it
(And nobody attending)
In the thrall of it all
No lower heaven
For his bones
Nor handing life back
What it's owed
Caretaker careless
Of what he's sown
Porously reaching
His lowest low
The negative
Hast just begun
Joining the war
Impossible...
Because self destruction brings misfortune
In the thrall of it all
He's hit the wailing wall
In the thrall of it all
He's kissed the wailing wall
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