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“Homo Videns” transports us to the year 3125, to the city of Nébula. In “Clockwork,” the story is presented as an official recording that reveals how little is known about the last world war. The narrative attempts to reconstruct the image of an ancient civilization that was free, peaceful, and sustainable, but leaves unsettling gaps: it never explains what went wrong or how the collapse occurred.
The music reinforces this contradiction with sounds of machinery and gears, evoking a world where human life functions like an automatic mechanism. The title is no coincidence: in this future, people no longer live—they merely operate. They work without questioning, trapped in a mechanical routine that brutally contrasts with the idea of freedom and community that once existed… or at least is believed to have existed.
Año 3125. El mundo no fue siempre como lo conocemos. Se dice que hubo una época en la que las personas vivían con más opciones, menos urgencia y otro tipo de prioridades. Había tiempo para elegir qué hacer, cómo vivir. Algunos relatos describen una vida cómoda y libre donde cada quien podía seguir sus propios intereses sin dejar de pensar en los demás. Existía una red de comunicación global donde circulaban historias, cánticos y toda clase de registros. Las compartían por pantallas pero también en plazas, teatros, aulas, espacios que hoy apenas se comprenden...
Según las versiones más difundidas esa libertad convivía con un sentido de comunidad. Lo que se hacía, se hacía también por el bien común. Desde acá todo suena fácil, completo, incluso admirable. Si todo era tan bueno ¿qué fue lo que salio mal? ¿en qué momento empezó a romperse aquello?
No hay registros accesibles que lo expliquen. La red de información de Nébula conserva información sobre los años del conflicto: cronologías, daños, medidas de reconstrucción, pero nada sobre las causas. Lo cierto es que todo aquello terminó en una guerra cuyas consecuencias aún siguen reconfigurando la vida humana.
Year 3125. The world was not always as we know it. It is said that there was a time when people lived with more options, less urgency, and a different set of priorities. There was time to choose what to do, how to live. Some accounts describe a comfortable and free life where everyone could follow their own interests without forgetting about others. There was a global communication network where stories, songs, and all kinds of records circulated. They shared them on screens, but also in plazas, theaters, classrooms, and spaces that today are barely understood...
According to the most widespread versions, this freedom coexisted with a sense of community. What was done, was also done for the common good. From here, it all sounds easy, complete, even admirable. If everything was so good, what went wrong? When did it start to fall apart?
There are no accessible records that explain it. The information network of Nébula holds records about the years of conflict: chronologies, damages, reconstruction measures, but nothing about the causes. The truth is, all that ended in a war whose consequences are still reshaping human life.
Sydney stands in front of his reflection in the mirror, his gaze lost in the eyes of someone he no longer recognizes. The day feels like an endless repetition, every moment the same as the last, and the noise of the outside world blends with a deep silence in his mind. Routine has dragged him here, and although the weight of indifference surrounds him, something inside him begins to awaken. That spark that was always hidden now shines with a disconcerting force. He wants more. He wants control.
With a clenched fist, Sydney takes the first step toward an uncertain future. He has no interest in following rules or waiting for answers from a system that has ignored him. His frustration has driven him to a breaking point where there is no room for passivity. He wonders whether he should fight for radical change or simply fade into the darkness. But one thing is clear: his destiny is in his hands, and this time, he will be the one to decide what to do with his life.
Today I'm not okay,
as everyday I just
play the automatic machine.
but somehow now I think about
what am I supposed to come
to this world for?
It seems there is nothing to live for.
nothing seems to excite me anymore.
I think no one will hear me scream.
Maybe this is just a bad dream.
I think It's time to take control.
If nothing has a purpose, I'll make one.
So what's next? or in peace should I rest?
Should I choose a side or come up with a new ID?
Should I bring hope to lost souls?
Or a master plan to bring down the system.
Should I start the fire?
Should I leave my life behind.
Should I fight the liar?
Should I be the voice you deny?
I think It's time to take control.
If nothing has a purpose, I'll make one.
It seems there's nothing to live for.
nothing seems to excite me anymore.
I think no one will hear me scream.
Maybe this is just a bad dream.
Sydney decides to explore Nébula, the city he arrived in seeking new opportunities, but which over time trapped him in an automatic routine. Instead of spending another night in front of the television, he takes his motorcycle and ventures into its streets, guided by curiosity and the desire to break the monotony. There is no danger or urgency, only the need to move, to see with different eyes, as if sensing that his destiny lies out there.
Sydney leaves the motorcycle by the curb and continues on foot. He moves among faces illuminated by screens, absent gazes, fingers moving without pause. In restaurants and bars, televisions dictate prefabricated emotions; in clubs, euphoria seems automatic. Everything happens before him like a rehearsed choreography, where no one stops to question anything. Sydney watches in silence and understands that the city does not sleep: it simply distracts itself.
As he walks, he feels how this constant stimulation anesthetizes memory and conflict. Tragedies are reduced to spectacle, and thought yields to comfort. People do not escape pain; they exchange it for quick stimuli. Sydney perceives this cycle repeating over and over, a discharge that calms and empties at the same time. Something stirs in his mind: the certainty that, if no one breaks this spell, everything will keep burning without anyone noticing.
That same night, during his visit to one of those clubs, Sydney recognizes Beth, an ex-girlfriend he met years ago in their hometown. The encounter confuses him: Beth is no longer the person he remembers, now moving with confidence, surrounded by people, as if she holds a leadership role within an activist group. Her presence contrasts with the artificial atmosphere of the place and awakens an immediate curiosity in Sydney.
Through Beth, Sydney begins to understand how the city really works: its invisible limits, the normalized deceptions, the propaganda disguised as entertainment, and the corruption that sustains the apparent order. Although he cannot grasp everything, he feels that Beth sees something he is only beginning to sense. Driven by the desire to regain her attention and approval, Sydney agrees to get involved in her plans, without yet measuring the scope of that decision.
Today the world we know comes from
those who cook reality like fast food
through a little screen served hot,
easy to get, easy to consume.
Here comes the dopamine.
Every time someone chooses to entertain,
someone else stops to think and just stares.
And even facts you find on your social feed
are bent to reaffirm the ideas you heed.
Our needs now hide in comfort we have embraced,
Forgetting we are the few who still remain.
The wars that shaped our lives are fading fast,
Survivors lost in memories they don’t name.
Here comes the dopamine.
Crisis turns into a tragic poem,
When you watch it through the glowing glass.
Then change the mood with a scroll,
And leave the world to burn beyond your hands.
Small sparks keep dancing in my brain
Sweet lies that numb the deepest pain,
The rush comes back to me again
and then nothing feels the same.
Here comes the dopamine.
After parting ways with Beth, Sydney walks through the city with a saturated mind. The words he heard don’t quite fit, yet they don’t dissolve either. He thinks about how many times he accepted going on without questioning, polishing what already existed instead of changing it. Comfort now feels like an elegant cage. He feels something pushing from within, not as a clear command, but as a persistent unease demanding attention.
That restlessness confronts him with himself. He doesn’t know if what drives him is a genuine conviction or a need to feel different, relevant. Doubt follows him as he observes the city functioning with mechanical precision. Sydney understands that ignoring this tension would be easier, but he also knows that doing so would condemn him to a life of unasked questions. Moving forward is no longer a neutral option: it is a choice with consequences.
Although surrounded by connections, messages, and stimuli, Sydney experiences a profound silence. Nothing responds when he tries to make sense of it. The city feels like a complex network, a journey full of detours with no visible maps. He walks feeling out of place, as if advancing along an edge that few notice. He seeks neither attention nor validation; he seeks to understand what lies behind that constant noise that leaves him empty.
Gradually, Sydney begins to accept that perhaps he is the center of nothing. He perceives himself as a minimal piece within an immense, repetitive, and precise structure. This idea does not nullify him, but it forces him to reconsider his position. If freedom is not absolute, perhaps it lies in choosing how to fit in, or when to resist. With that incomplete certainty, he keeps moving, still unsure if he is fleeing… or finally walking in the right direction.
Sometimes I wonder
if this is all life is.
Repeating what already works.
Improving what is done.
Somehow I can't ignore
that voice inside of me.
A call I should respond to or
It's ego claiming its throne.
I must follow what feels right
or be haunted by eternal doubt.
Am I running from the world
that is in front of my eyes?
Or am I on my chosen path?
So wired and connected
but I only find silence.
Is there a puzzle to solve?
a labyrinth to cross.
I walk along a different shore
and nobody's watching.
Am I trying to listen for
something that makes no noise?
Does freedom become an illusion
when you understand your role?
When you see yourself as a human cell
a part of something bigger
as life was never really about you.
So where's my place
in this fractal universe?
Am I running from the world
that is in front of my eyes?
Or am I on my chosen path?
I must follow what feels right
or be haunted by eternal doubt.
Am I running from
the world that is in
front of my eyes?
Or am I on my chosen path?
Am I running...
Am I walking on my chosen path?
After several days of reflection, Sydney wakes up with a clear and focused determination. There is no strange calm or artificial feeling, but a precise, almost sharp concentration. He knows that something begins that day. He gets ready for work as usual, but with a decision already made: to assume a double role. The awareness now inhabiting him is neither foreign nor accidental; it is a deliberate construction, a version of himself designed to observe and act.
At the office, everything seems the same. Routines repeat, screens display the same predictable language. Sydney performs his work without raising suspicion, but in parallel, he executes his true plan. He navigates carefully, gathers information, and connects scattered data. He uses his technical knowledge as a natural extension of his curiosity, aware that each search brings him closer to a deeper understanding of what is happening beneath the surface.
He maintains contact with Beth in a calculated way. He no longer listens solely out of emotional interest, but to contrast ideas and gauge reach. He understands that she opened a door for him, but he does not intend to remain on the threshold. He begins to formulate something of his own, a strategy that does not depend on slogans or external impulses. He does not seek to follow orders: he seeks to build something with real weight.
As the days pass, Sydney confirms that he no longer acts out of inertia. It is not about impressing anyone or filling a momentary void. He has decided to occupy an active, even uncomfortable, place in the flow of events. For the first time, he does not feel like he is observing his life from the outside. He is inside, making decisions, accepting consequences, and claiming a leading role in his own story.
Although contact with Beth has resumed, Sydney senses a new distance. She seems absorbed by her own ideals, moving forward with a conviction that leaves no room for doubt. He, on the other hand, carries the feeling of having arrived late, of not fully fitting into the place they once shared. He remembers the breakup as a necessary decision, but now it weighs on him. He wonders if, even being close, he will never again live up to what Beth expects.
That discomfort forces him to look at himself without concessions. Sydney recognizes that he has changed, but he doesn’t know when or exactly into what he has transformed. There are fragments of the past left behind without farewell, decisions made without considering the consequences. Nostalgia does not dominate him, but it confronts him. He understands that certain words spoken back then still resonate, and that some absences cannot be fixed with time or new intentions.
The idea of moving forward begins to take shape, not as a heroic gesture, but as a cold acceptance. Sydney understands that he cannot rely on broken bonds or implicit promises. He does not seek to dramatize his solitude or turn it into an epic tale; he simply assumes that this path belongs solely to him. If he is to move forward, he must do so without witnesses, without applause, and without the hope of being rescued.
Observing the world around him, Sydney confirms that something does not fit, but also that hiding is no longer an option. Remaining still would be a slow form of surrender. He then decides to learn the real rules of his environment, even those that are uncomfortable. He knows there will be mistakes and visible marks, but also that there will be no second chances to fall and rise again the same way. This time, he thinks, he will have to stand and resist.
I don't even know
who the hell did I become?
I left behind all our memories
like ashes drifting who knows where.
I know I wasn't enough
In consequences I've never really thought
Now I wonder if you miss me
despite I said love isn't everything.
This life is not what I want
Don't mind the wounds I will see.
There won't be a next time
you'll see me fall.
Yeah I think It's time to move on,
our time has already gone.
I gotta accept the fact I'm alone in this.
No drama or tragic background melodies.
The world outside seems too wrong
but I cannot live forever in this hole.
I need to figure out how to get my way,
learn to play dirty to adapt to this game.
This life is not what I want
Don't mind the wounds I will see.
There won't be a next time
you'll see me fall.
Sydney keeps moving forward, but inside he feels stuck. The determination he had built begins to crack under the weight of his own doubts. He feels small, interchangeable, far from the image others seem to embody with ease. Neither brilliant nor strong, just aware, perhaps too much. Each reflection opens a new crack, and at times, the idea of giving up everything seems tempting, like a definitive rest from the internal conflict.
On that uncomfortable edge, Sydney realizes he has lived protected by layers that no longer serve him. Learned masks, strategic silences, a shell that kept him safe, but also immobile. He begins to notice that what he avoids is the same thing that defines him. He cannot keep escaping what he is uncomfortable facing. He understands that the dark part he carries is not an external enemy, but a constant presence demanding to be acknowledged.
Accepting this does not bring immediate peace, but it does bring harsh clarity. Sydney understands that moving forward will mean exposing himself, making mistakes, and breaking previous versions of himself. Each fall will be a form of shedding, a necessary loss to reclaim something more essential. He does not feel invincible or redeemed, but for the first time he decides not to divide himself anymore. If he is to continue, he will do so fully, even with everything he once tried to deny.
I am nothing but a shield of fear,
Hiding from the gaze that draws too near.
Wearing faces blurring who I am,
Afraid to fight when the pain begins again.
I must face the beast, not run.
Bleed beneath the darkened sun.
To be whole, I can’t divide.
My shadow walks right by my side.
This armor isn’t truly mine,
It’s forged in trauma, fear, and time.
But in their eyes I see a flame,
a memory I tried to lock away in shame.
I must face the beast, not run.
Bleed beneath the darkened sun.
To be whole, I can’t divide.
My shadow walks right by my side.
Each time I fall into that space,
Where light and dark must converge in grace,
I feel I die, I break apart,
But that’s the price of claiming back my heart.
I must face the beast, not run.
Bleed beneath the darkened sun.
To be whole, I can’t divide.
My shadow walks right by my side.
Over time, Sydney understands that the order in Nébula does not arise from balance, but from control. The constant entertainment, the lights and screens, were not freedom but a carefully designed distraction. Like Beth, he discovers that there are others who do not accept this preordained fate. He does not feel accompanied or part of a collective, but he recognizes a common tension: too many people are beginning to demand answers in a city accustomed to obedient silence.
When the leaked audio starts circulating online, Sydney listens without drama or relief. He does not see it as a call to feel part of something, but as a direct claim he cannot ignore. He knows he is still an ordinary person, easily replaceable, but he also understands that ignoring that voice would be a form of complicity. Beyond his personal conflicts, there is a real demand pulsing beneath the noise. Failing to respond would not keep him on the sidelines: it would place him, unwillingly, on the side of the system he has learned to reject.
Ciudadanos de Nébula… ¿Cuánto tiempo más seguiremos conectados y vacíos? Nos prometieron progreso, y nos dieron cadenas de fibra óptica. Nos hablaron de libertad digital, y nos llenaron de contraseñas, filtros y vigilancia. Antes las cadenas eran de hierro; hoy son de cables. Antes el patrón se sentaba en una fábrica; ahora se oculta tras un algoritmo.
Hoy los ricos no poseen tierras: poseen datos. Ya no exprimen manos, exprimen tiempo. Nos venden comodidad, pero nos quitan descanso; nos ofrecen conexión, pero nos roban pensamiento. El trabajo se volvió automático, y la vida, desechable. Nos alimentan con pantallas, nos domestican con entretenimiento, y llaman libertad a elegir entre mil versiones de la misma mentira.
Pero toda estructura tiene su falla. Y cuando la pantalla se agrieta, lo que se filtra no es ruido: es humanidad. No queremos destruir la tecnología —queremos devolverle propósito. Queremos redes que unan, no que controlen; circuitos que sirvan al pueblo, no que lo vigilen. La energía que extraen de nosotros no está en sus reactores: está en nuestras manos. Que los cables del control se transformen en herramientas del pueblo.
Que las máquinas de la dominación obedezcan al trabajo humano, no lo sustituyan. La revolución que viene no se programa desde arriba, se codifica entre todos. La grieta ya está hecha. Ahora solo falta que entremos por ella.
Citizens of Nébula… How much longer will we stay connected and empty? They promised us progress — and gave us chains of fiber and glass. They spoke of digital freedom, and drowned us in passwords, filters, and surveillance. Once, the chains were made of iron; now, they’re made of cables. Once, the master sat in a factory; now, he hides behind an algorithm.
Today, the wealthy don’t own land — they own data. They no longer exploit our hands; they harvest our time. They sell us comfort, but steal our rest. They offer connection, but drain our thought. Work has become automatic… and life, disposable. They feed us screens, tame us with entertainment, and call it freedom — choosing among a thousand versions of the same lie.
But every structure has its flaw. And when the screen cracks, what seeps through isn’t noise — it’s humanity. We don’t seek to destroy technology — we seek to reclaim its purpose. We want networks that connect, not control; circuits that serve the people, not spy on them. The energy they steal from us doesn’t come from their reactors — it comes from our hands. Let the cables of control become tools of the people.
Let the machines of domination obey human labor, not replace it. The coming revolution won’t be programmed from above — it will be coded by all of us. The crack is already there. All that’s left is to step through it.
Over time, Nébula ceases to be a stage filled with bright lights and superficial distractions. Sydney, along with Beth and others, begins to recognize the façade covering the city: a systematic and silent control that manipulates and silences dissenting voices. The awakening is collective, and a growing awareness rises among them. The city is not what it seems. The fight for the truth begins to take shape in a resistance determined to dismantle the power structure that supports it.
As discontent spreads, the message is clear: corruption consuming society must be unmasked, from the screens that dominate us to the voices that cannot be heard. People unite with the same purpose: to reclaim control over what should be free. Sydney is no longer a bystander; he is at the center of a rebellion, understanding that to change the rules, one must first have the strength to challenge the system that enforces them. Algorithms, filtered news, and images shaping their lives will no longer be enough to stop them.
Confrontation with power is inevitable. The manipulation of information and mass indoctrination that has been normalized must be faced directly. The battle will be difficult, but the goal is clear: to end the imposed silence. In the streets and online, new alliances, new ways of thinking and acting are taking shape. Sydney, now fully involved, understands that the fight for truth is not only an external challenge but also a process of personal transformation.
Bodies move in synchronized decay.
Children taught to run the same old race.
Raised to obey, to produce, not to stray.
Programmed dreams, through ads across the days.
From words to screens, the shift began so smooth,
The mind once sharp now bends to what we view.
Where reason lived, now images intrude,
Replacing thoughts with stimulus and mood.
Let's bring the system down.
The news now sells what algorithms select,
Dividing minds with bias they inject.
What is sold as fact is just disguise,
A mirror fed with repeating echoes of lies.
Debate fades when we prefer the show.
Chase the dreams that others claim to grow.
We vote for charm or just the lesser harm,
Then curse the world, forgetting we're the cause.
Let's bring the system down.
The screens, the statistics,
fake reality creators.
What's the meaning of life?
Working as hell to pay-off.
Take a look the world around
the humanity failures.
Machines become alive
with all that we are made of.
Does anyone wonder why the clocks move fast?
Has anyone noticed how we forget the past?
Now we learn to scroll before we could speak.
Our choices shaped before we learn to think.
The plan collapses when they manage to attack the center that filters the network’s information. For a few hours, surveillance disappears and the data could spread freely, but the opportunity is lost: all critical information ends up solely in Beth’s hands, and she is soon captured. The network returns to its usual silence, not due to total technical control, but because the truth is trapped where no one else can reach it.
Sydney observes the void left by that missed opportunity. He feels no determination or renewed strength, only the bitter certainty of having arrived too late. He knows the information system was breached, but without the data there is no message to deliver. He remains hidden, without allies or resources, accepting that, in practical terms, he has lost. Each thought reinforces the idea that every effort was futile and that the order they tried to break is already rebuilding itself.
Even so, he cannot fully surrender. Not out of courage, but out of an inability to accept a life built on an obvious lie. Beth remains in his mind as an unresolved debt, but it is not only about her. Sydney understands that if he gives in to resignation, his existence will be reduced to repeating what he already despises. Perhaps there is no clear way out left, but giving up would mean accepting a world he knows is wrong.
Sydney remains on the run, blending with the crowd like just another shadow. He walks aimlessly, but no longer views the city with innocence. Every screen, every advertisement, and every slogan reveal a hidden intent. He begins to distinguish those who dictate desires from afar, shaping guilt and emotions. He moves through the noise with an uncomfortable clarity: the fire no longer scares him, because he understands that ignorance was the real danger.
As he crosses avenues and passageways, he recognizes the complete mechanism. The system does not oppress through direct violence, but through constant occupation: imposed goals, pre-fabricated identities, a freedom that exists only to consume. Politics seems to him just another decoration, flexible to invisible interests. Sydney feels that knowing all this has changed him; knowledge does not calm him, it makes him incapable of obeying empty words or promises cloaked in authority.
At the end of the journey, the revelation becomes total. No discourse remains intact: beliefs, news, ideologies, and advertising all share the same logic of repetition and control. The city functions because no one questions too much. Sydney understands that the goal has always been the same: to ensure unanimity and erase all dissent. That certainty sinks into him like a silent command. He can no longer pretend to be normal. Swallowing the lie would be disappearing.
I see the ones behind the screen,
telling us who to love who to blame.
I see lies in every speech,
but still I walk through the flames.
Now knowledge is my new drug.
I’ve had my own overdose.
Therefore golden words of kings
turn dust the closer I get to those.
They own you through the system,
feeding on your needs to fuel their gains.
Then freedom of consume becomes your comfort chains.
They want you keeping yourself busy
achieving what your social ID demands.
While politics bends to lobby,
and democracy is sold to rich hands.
Swallow your lies.
I see the ones behind the ads,
selling joy while they print desire.
So proud waiting for reward
building someone else's empire.
It seems we're all tattooed with a brand
we depend on to survive.
They pay you for your time, and then
others charge you to feel alive.
And last but not least:
faith telling don't question just memorize.
religion, news, politics, social media,
commercials... everyone lies.
They all want a mayority where
their authority has no doubt.
They want to erricate minorities
that goes agains the masterplan.
Swallow your lies.
They own you through the system,
feeding on your needs to fuel their gains.
Then freedom of consume becomes your comfort chains.
And last but not least:
faith telling don't question just memorize.
religion, news, politics, social media,
commercials... everyone lies.
Sydney finally decides to take matters into his own hands. Paralysis and doubt are left behind; every thought becomes potential action. He begins to sketch out an improvised plan: he needs to locate Beth and recover the critical information she holds. He observes movements, records patterns of guards and employees, and analyzes possible routes. His approach is not heroic, but calculated, like someone who understands that any mistake could erase the last chance to change anything.
At the same time, he begins to prepare for what the situation demands. He studies how to disguise himself to infiltrate, how to assume the identity of a government worker and move without being detected. He builds makeshift tools and weapons with limited resources, each piece assembled with precision and urgency. He does not act out of violence or impulse, but out of necessity: his objective is clear and cold—to reach Beth or at least recover the disc that holds the truth capable of altering the entire city.
Sydney begins to carry out his plan as the city seems to crumble around him. However, what weighs on him the most is not the external chaos, but the internal battle he has been carrying for a long time. He knows that no one pushed him to this point and that he still retains the ability to choose. He does not see himself as a savior or as a figure destined for anything grand. He is simply someone moving forward despite fear, aware that whatever happens from now on will depend solely on him.
Every step confronts him with the possibility of failure. He does not act out of gratitude toward a world that never protected him, but because standing still would be a betrayal of himself. As he infiltrates and observes, he feels the accumulated exhaustion and the fragility of his own body. Even so, he persists. He seeks neither glory nor recognition, only to endure long enough to fulfill what he set out to do. To keep breathing afterward, even if everything else collapses, would already be a form of victory.
In the most critical moments, Sydney accepts his solitude. There is no support and no safety net, only decisions made under pressure. He knows himself to be weak and exposed, but also aware that this path allows no turning back. He cannot change what he chose to do, only the moment and the way he faces it. If he is to fall, it will be fighting with the only things he has: his own hands and the certainty that giving up is no longer an option.
I see a world constantly falling apart
but it doesn't compare
to my selfish anguish inside.
I know my hands aren't tied up
and I still have a voice to scream.
I'm not the chosen one or some kind of
martyr chasing a dream.
Sacrificing myself
for a world that never
looked out for me.
But after all here I am
afraid to fail again.
What comes next depends on me.
I just want to resist, to keep breathing
after I've done what must be done
I just want to resist, to keep breathing
even when all hope has gone.
I am bleeding flesh
weak and powerless.
I think I can barely stand.
But this path... I can't change,
I can... only choose the when
at least I can fight with this hands
in this I'm alone in this...
I just want to resist, to keep breathing
after I've done what must be done
I just want to resist, to keep breathing
even when all hope has gone.
To be continued...
Forget about what others think
Forget about what others think
Forget about what others think
Forget about what others think
You can be whoever you wanna be
Anytime, anywhere
You can be whatever you wanna be
Anytime, anywhere
You can be whoever you wanna be
Anytime, anywhere
You can be whatever you wanna be
Anytime, anywhere
In silent depths, the stars align
Patterns of psyche, divine design
Through shadowed realms, the soul refines
Ad Astra, where truths entwine
Ahh...
And then we will become
One...
And then we will become
One...
And then we will become
One...
And then we will become one...
Through cosmic tides, the self takes form
A journey within, the inner storm
From dark to light, the fire is born
Ad Astra, to the eternal norm
Ahh...
And then we will become
One...
And then we will become
One...
And then we will become
One...
And then we will become one...
Resignándome a vivir entre fantasmas que
en otro idioma a veces suelen hablar.
Me cuesta imitar, adaptarme, como ellos ser.
Vuelvo a mi confortable soledad.
Puedo imaginar con quiénes nunca podré
sentirme completo o natural.
Así como aquellos con los que
una bomba en mi garganta quiere estallar.
No sé lo que busco
pero tal vez la gente sea solo un camino
mas no el final.
Quizás sea ese mi error,
queriendo encontrar respuestas
en el más allá.
Y lentamente morir
ser un fantasma más.
O ver dentro de mí
en mi oscuridad.
Resigning myself to living among ghosts who
in another language sometimes tend to speak.
I struggle to imitate, to adapt, to be like them.
I return to my comfortable solitude.
I can imagine those with whom I will never be able to
feel complete or natural.
As well as those with whom
a bomb in my throat wants to explode.
I don’t know what I’m looking for,
but maybe people are only a path,
not the destination.
Perhaps that is my mistake,
trying to find answers
beyond this world.
And slowly die,
becoming just another ghost.
Or look within myself,
into my darkness.
Who am I? Who's the one
That thinks and feels in this body?
A cosmic spark which life has just begun
Or just flesh and bones that fade to nothing
Through my thoughts, I feel the flame
Beyond what I see, beyond the known
Inner whispers guide my way
To where I am free, where I am whole
Eyes always wide open,
body in constant motion
Trapped in neverending cycles
Need to look deep inside,
leave my ego behind
Start this journey in spirals
Through my thoughts, I feel the flame
Beyond what I see, beyond the known
Inner whispers guide my way
To where I am free, where I am whole
It seems the only way back home
Let the self die to be reborn
Dejamos el silencio entrar
Nos ahorramos alguna explicación
Improvisamos complicidad
Orquestamos nuestra agitación
Como extraños con afinidad
Abrimos paso a la imaginación
Cruzamos el territorio carnal
Voces de éxtasis entre los dos
Y de aquí vamos a un viaje astral
La ternura suplantando al placer
El mañana tan lejos está
Mientras contemplo tu renacer
Deja el silencio entrar...
We let silence in
We save ourselves some explanation
We improvise complicity
We orchestrate our agitation
Like strangers with affinity
We make way for imagination
We cross the carnal territory
Voices of ecstasy between the two of us
And from here we go on an astral journey
Tenderness replacing pleasure
Tomorrow feels so far away
As I watch your rebirth
Let the silence in...
Letra por: Alexis Lace
I feel great, I feel brave.
I feel strange and I feel sane.
'Cause I no longer care,
never going back there.
I've steered clear of your lair
and I'll beat you fair and square.
Yeah I no longer care,
never going back there.
I've steered clear of your lair
and I'll beat you fair and square.
Let my shine come through.
Get through to you.
Let my fire burn through
the ice in you.
I feel new, I'm a shrew.
And I hate you, let me show you.
Who's boss now I'm reborn,
fury of women scorned.
The old me I won't mourn,
the new me has come home.
Let my shine come through.
Get through to you.
Let my fire burn through
the ice in you.
I'm boss now I'm reborn,
fury of women scorned.
None of you will be mourned.
Watch the new me go home.
Let my shine come through.
Get through to you.
Let my fire burn through
the ice in you.
Let my shine come through...
Let my fire burn through...
Let my shine come through...
Let my fire burn through
the ice in you.
Give me an smile, an excuse
so convenient to run, to hide.
Don't look at me,
I've got issues like you
trying to fight and survive.
Where's the nearest stop to get off
this hypocritical bus?
Declare by myself an enemy of this world
against the ones that keeps us unborn.
I'm gonna throw you
my dirty politic campaign
(just like you, robberman).
I'm gonna throw you
my propaganda spams
(just like your faking ads).
I'm gonna throw you
my own Tv channel with some gore
(just like your local news).
I'm gonna throw you
my bible lines you want to ignore
to keep us unborn.
Give some rules to refuse
so you understand i dont mind
to be part of your new
world order masterplan.
Where's the nearest stop to get off
this hypocritical bus?
Declare by myself an enemy of this world
against the ones that keeps us unborn.
I'm gonna throw you
my dirty politic campaign
(just like you, robberman).
I'm gonna throw you
my propaganda spams
(just like your faking ads).
I'm gonna throw you
my own Tv channel with some gore
(just like your local news).
I'm gonna throw you
my bible lines you want to ignore
to keep us unborn.
