Ronin
Fenice

...and feel like water flowing down a stream. Fresh, clear, gentle in caressing every single shape of every stone and twig. Immersing in it and remaining suspended, levitating. No more bottom. No more certainties. The fire of the phoenix is pure spirit hovering over the water. It seems to court it. The fire has fallen in love with the water. It is not afraid of being extinguished by it: the fire of the phoenix cannot be extinguished, only its power can be reduced. The ashes cannot be scattered by the wind because the wind is a friend of the fire. Everything is a friend of the fire. Everything is fire.

This album is pure fire. Without saying a word, it will take you where you have never been or where you always wanted to go but could not find the right path on the map. And that's because a map was not needed. The phoenix illuminates the path for nine stages. You will ride your horse like cowboys lost in the world, pursued only by shadows. But always with the fire of the phoenix inside you and in your colt. You will cross the blood meridian alongside shady figures and cutthroats from countries forgotten by any god.

“Swords” will be drawn, lives called back to the earth. Judges, kids, whores, and who knows who else, finally to dance together a dance played by others, in a circle, again and again, forever. For eternity. Each stage, new sounds, new faces, deserts, mountains, clouds, rain, rivers, smoke, silence... Like the silence of space condensed in “Flint”. Planets spinning in their continuous orbit, dance of eons. And we there, reaching out a hand into the darkness, sure that there might be a light, a fire. Because space is the home of the fire and we are only guests. It is time to go. Ride your steed of violet light and if you are not too dazed by such beauty, return to Earth. Because here, a funeral is taking place. The phoenix is dying, the fire is slowly extinguishing. The road is now dark. Ring bells, ring!

Organs in churches of brick burned by the sun play the notes of “Phoenix”. Let people come out onto the street and old women accompany the coffin full of dried flowers, singing their ancient chants. Let the children wear their best clothes. The men are already whispering softly as the coffin passes: “It Was a Very Good Year”. Indeed, it was a very good year. But then, which one... there will be many more to come. Of that year, we have only a vague taste, but we do not remember it so well anymore.

The coffin with the phoenix heads away towards the sunset. The sun too bids farewell to the fire. But do not weep, there is no need. It is already the time of the fire. It is already time for rebirth.