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by Calcined

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    Full lenght - 2018 - Great Dane Records / Hexerei Records

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Sit on the Mount of Fire Then finally, I was going back home. To bring back these double-faced treasures was one of the last privileges that I still had. I was back home, I climbed the hill and I was soon able to discern its red roof and these blue shutters. When it grazed me, the nature of these double visages elicited the birth of a natural discomfort. I’m so young but I’m so old. I’m feeling diaphanous and marked by the dark scum on the thousand walls. Something’s happening but I still don’t understand it so far. My shoulders wore a cloak of tiredness; it became so heavy than I was forced to bend and to grab a bunch of mud in order to fill my internal crevices. I kneaded so hardly that my hands’ substance mixed themselves within the crucible! The incomprehension face to alterations looks like a baleful colour which it seeped in and soil the walls’ cell: this mind that are searching itself into obscurity. Set on my little head, a gaping opening let flow a clear blue blood. Did my look lose the particles of light or was this calm shelter that was devoured by these hills? This place where we were eternally delighted! Lost in my ascension, in the maelstrom of yellow lights, twisting in front of my eyes, I don’t want to be the Sower at Sunset, I don’t want to be at the Gate of Eternity! Separated from the place where I will eat my dinner, I turned away my lower abdomen from the incline and I presented it to the skies! Sun please, read in each of my wounds! But I still bore these solar winds who took form of these sad, wet, maleficent and cracked visages. Here and there, I recognized the lost warmth. At ease, I sit against the slope and let bathe and penetrate myself by showers of heat. These visages, that I never saw but which brought me sorrow and horror, were Instantly dispelled! At this time, I recognized the vibration of this infinite skin from which I should never have been untied. I let myself pick by so much heat, I allow it to bite me and kiss me. I allow it to cover myself with flames! Serene but lost, innocent but cracked, but already so tired. Sit on a mount, Sit on the mount of fire! Par la chaleur, je fus lavé de la Mort
Capricornus Before the time where the leopard, the lion and the she-wolf grow and starve themselves mutually by devouring each other's vain vileness, I was already in an obscure forest, but luckily, I had taken the lead over the terrible wind, the wind made of blades, which eternally rob us and turn kindly sage into gilded dust. Under the wild grass, there was still a set of objects in a jumble: potentialities and old materials that we don’t know if all this will be sufficient to strengthen the big construction constantly rising. The forest was too deep, and my eyes and the moon were still too small to cover all this dark area and to fix a single sky where the colours are never the same but a gold beam made of unknown voices drilled a breakthrough across the fat boughs. Yet so early, my world gained unconsciously a fragment of plenitude. Two different paths but we will share the same grass. I never hope to assist to the swallowing of these glints in the blackish and moving mass of the cape which garb the Oblivion. Capricornus! but I knew that from now and for the rest of my life, the Capricorn is among us! My eyes were most certainly remaining closed but I felt his arrival. I saw him before clearly discerning him. My fragile feet carried me up to a room where the Sun was absent but where we could see like during a summer evening. He was on the table, receiving all the respect which a tired, skilled traveller would deserve. I saw his four horns which remained hidden! However, my young spirit felt that the life had left them. The place that’s welcoming their celebration’s laughter Is where they’re rotting, trapped, in ecstasy! Into the heart of Darkness, I made the promise to wait until you finally conceal yourself, under your bed, the eyes on your palms so I could listen to you endlessly screaming: the almighty, unvanquished Sun is burning my eyes! So no one of us would have won.
MacBeth (Act.5 Sc.1) A frozen hand on the candlestick. An arm that melted, That has been washed of beauty, innocent youth and virtue by a cruel rain. It has never been a rain of vice because I never saw that you turned bad, poor Lady! Just dreadfully inspired by this disharmonious noise in your head, This cracked bell’s chant that you tried to reproduce and sing the clamor to transmit it to your husband. You brought and wanted your presumptuous world’s vision ideally ruled by a couple whose whiteness of function is equal only to their souls’ purity. I never saw that you turned bad, poor Lady! Yet you shed so much blood, so much suffering! This rain that defiles the flesh blushed by the fire of youth was disgorged by clouds now similar to your eyes. Oh! The torments created by your infamous acts, burned, dug your flesh and make now shiver your undignified jaws. And in your blind dance where the search for oblivion swaps its place with your unhealthy guilt, two frightened people are discovering this new field of possibilities that you embody now in their eyes. Oh! Hell is murky. Look not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on ’s grave. Ah! Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. This blood doesn’t exist, but it symbolises awareness face of your infamous acts. It doesn’t exist on your arms, This blood that never runs out in its flow, this blood sings your detestable infamy. Discovering the trace of guilt On your hands and your fine wrists I know that your final breath will come Before you achieve this squalid but useless work Again! I never saw that you turned bad, poor Lady! Don’t you? But it seems very real. Evidence of your misdeeds! Ay! This bloody fluid seems very real on these corpses. Please, her condition horrifies me, close the door behind her. May we fall asleep under these un-lenient skies.
The Long Horn Because of their emptiness, I must confess that I possess the Long Horn, the one that will bring the relief of their fears. Behind what we’re keeping, well hidden, there is this sphere made up of blades that will allow us to be more than simple biological puppets. To gain an integrity, a purpose that would enable us to taste, to see, to touch and finally to really weep. The hand on my Horn, I see them all and all turned. They are so frightened and so tired. They are only the sum of their impulses and their silences. Though I’m walking with the Long Horn, I know that we carry within us our Great Hunger; But it shouldn’t be an excuse to lying about what is happening, Up there... Up there… Behind the huge, Locked, misty door… A frightful collision between Desire and its Ignorance. All these collisions, I look at them smiling. After all, I know that they accepted it... Probably not at the beginning! No, but at the very end when I relieved them of every fears. For the very first time in their lives, they realised that it was easy to let go, they understood that this futile dance, this dance about hooks and hearts and these brains filled by tar; it was only a dream. I'm not going to say a word, fearing to spoil this moment. I didn’t say a word when I entered in his skull. The dream of existence that comes back like a flat-circle. I will contemplate their beautiful eyes while I’m penetrating them, piercing them sweetly and perversely with my Long Horn and until I feel them, leaving, gently, between my hands. This tender moment, we will live it together. Again. Again in their dreams. The dream of existence that comes back like a flat-circle. This tender moment, we will live it together. Again, again and forever. Until the water infiltrates everywhere and drowns the silver, big, oiled mechanisms of the watch.
5. Nod 03:47
NOD Nous voyons les membres de notre famille se faire surprendre par les colonnes de feu. Nous avons nos proches qui sont continuellement harcelés, chassés par des séides maudits. Ceux qui s’habillent avec les tissus que la Nuit leur fournis. Nos pieds se transforment peu à peu en de sanguinolents pinceaux sur la toile de notre fuite à cause de toutes ces pierres. Vilaines et coupantes. We have our bodies stricken by our Father. Le nôtre n’est pas celui qui nous a banni. He’s a stale, walking shade who loves and guards us. Il nous protège de son Oeil. While its landscapes’ poisoning us with this shiny black sand. Noir comme de la cendre! Ces cendres qui peuplent le monde de tous les regrets et de tous ces rêves qui se sont unis aux pierres. We’re the grandchildren of a grand inquisitor. Père! Je sens son Œil qui me parcourt, il me parcourt tel une lame dans la viande. Père! éteins le feu! Ours loves us so much that he created this shelter. This dark line on every decrepit drawn map, this ground as a little country forgotten in a constant devastation, this land of endless wandering and torpid leakage. The soil where our mighty and hounded Ancestor hid his drained body just after having received the sign of exile. Robbed of the fear, the anguish to be slain by his vicious enemies, Il s’est mis en marche au bras de la femme rebelle et vile, au-travers des ombres. La catin! She’s the woman whose dagger on her forehead was able to dim the sun’s rays, just for a moment. Even if she was not able to see through its gilded flamboyance. Even though she had already traveled far from the Other Side. Sale marâtre ! Oh! Anwar! Mère infâme! Oh! Anwar! Mère haïe Oh! Anwar! Pourquoi ne nous as-tu pas fait taire avec des traces de lame quand nous étions en train de dormir dans ton ventre, dis-moi ? Oh! Anwar! What did you do?
Morbid Pulse I spy with my little eye… I spy… But what my little eye’s spying ? In this park deserted by all complexion, which are the reflection of a calm spring and the emotional sphere’s vibrations, I gave dry bread to wingless birds, I smiled at passers-by who wore their heads in their bags or those whined children who ate their cut hands. Missed projects, aborted constructions, foundations where only a clayey juice sweats! I’m looking for a shelter crowned by a D for its first letter. It’s the first time of my day where I was instantly alone and so surrounded. Where we’re in a sleep phase, do the eyes know that they’re connected to a fat organ that doesn’t understand these creepy dances, movements behind the bloody dark veils? I had awakened to the side of a warm recess in my mattress that didn’t belong to any human form, but his cup of coffee was already burning my fingers. Everything belonged to him, but this huge flat was already empty. Empty. Empty, empty was my brain. Empty, empty as after a removal. Sitting on the floor, I drank a coffee while being watched by shadows that weren’t projected by anybody. It's so cold here, sir. As during the first time. And your words continue to chase me. The walls were swept away, dissolved by all the bursts of clamor that flared violently from outside. Strangers with very different voices were crying and begging that no one would try to kidnap me. Contemplating this scene was so absurd. In the same way when I saw myself following the movements of flight of this very young girl, seeking to protect her as I would have liked that somebody protects me against all those people in the street, who’re drowning into the waters of their prayers’ tears. When I finally touched her shoulder, my legs began to tremble, I felt myself as a drowning weight and all around me, through this aqueous nightmare, I discern them, they seem like gigantic and scary guardians, they wait in silence…
Crown of Mercy The Time scarifies us. With a nimble but cruel hand, It hurts us and crumbles in our mouth the spiritual bread that would have brought the repletion to us. In the twilight, in the city’s dark arteries, A whiteness dripping movement prefigures what soon, it will agitate in my poor head, in my guts and in my balls. What should I do (in order) to not being destroyed? A viscous army of crawling, weak and faceless beings, containers of stupidity, curses and wills of negation, pursuing purposes that the mass of their adoption is the only-one to conserve their reasons to live and their knowledge. Even if I know that I can resist against it for one moment still, I saw the Hunger under its most charming, most misleading and most noxious attires. I saw its incarnation! Lost in the middle of the city, I felt it, slipping through my fingers, penetrating in me, while manipulating me simply with its breath dotted with sickly lights while it drilled and pierced me the skull with the flag of its dominion. Time pours on our fronts, burns us, ill-uses our skin and finally, deprives our senses. The hunger and its ivory claws drill the shield on our forehead despite of the mutism which I wanted it to impose. I have made the prayer to be strong enough But these fragments soiled by memories, the fine and white claws found me. If only I had been able to find myself crucified in heavens, in front of the eternal sun. Thin, pale floating beings hanged in firmaments, Suspended in front of its eye just before its opening. Always suffering, unable to really die and just before, in a fair and savage white fury, it will contemplate us and eradicate us with the help of its high mercy!
Children into the Furnace We were not the first and we will never be the last in the middle of all that silk, that gold, that marble and these human ashes. The body’s loss isn’t a fear or a torment, but we must fear those who may lose their bodies and souls in this cold palace. Infect and sumptuous. In this blackened box, I softly hugged my two dear companions and we were surrounded by flames and by their eyes. On the flames of our oppressors, we shed tears that make it even more ardent. We aren’t afraid of suffering, we leave it the opportunity to suffer by itself. Through the smoke and the burning breath, there were neither cries of pain nor death rattles they heard but only singings. They thought to see our eyes to blacken and to shrivel into our skulls but how could they have seen it? Compared to what you have on the eyes and what infects your lungs, our young melting faces could be some delicate ornaments! Woe to you! You are like some whitewashed tombs: serene, motionless outside and so full of death, decay and bones inside. The brazen hammer will fall on your souls and tear them up till to crumble. When the smoke wasted away, the screams of horror that took their birth not from the red-hot furnace but from all around. Your home will be always deserted! You see, but you can’t understand, You hear but you don’t listen, Your souls are become heartless and so thick. Let the dead bury their own dead now because we didn’t come to bring peace. If they thought to save their lives by burning us then they will lose it, and if they lose it because of our songs then they will save it! It was now more glaring embers than ashes. We weren’t there but they had not defeated us. They would never! Never have been! we didn’t come to bring peace but the sword!
Tormenting Attractions I cannot any longer guide my steps wisely, Should I choose to live or to suffer? Holding the blade in my hand or lifting the neck in order to feel its bite on my throat? The weight of my hurts is too heavy for my envelope This flesh was muring me when she gave me so much. This kind of answers brings no more serenity, After being curled up and after having welcomed autarky as a host, I’m feeling so scared regarding my past way flooded by the darkness, Darkness where I thought I belong and where I thought To find what would have allowed me to survive. My mistake led me there, at this point. They took me to this locus where I no longer deserve your forgiveness. This isolation seeks to stop the distraught movement of my head In order to affix the crowning of the disgrace’s colours. I am forced to move away from this blackened stagnation, to move away from the viscid content where the shade of its horrific Hand can be read everywhere. Only torments will allow me to expiate in my flesh, Charmed and reduced to nothing. Oh! mighty splendour, I can’t set free. By myself! I can’t part from this old body! Get this lonely offering. Tamed, charmed and reduced to nothing by this dim light. I’m sinking. Drown in expiation and torments.


1. Sit on the Mount of Fire
2. Capricornus
3. McBeth (Act.V SC.1)
4. The Long Horn
5. Nod
6. Morbid Pulse
7. Crown of Mercy
8. Children into the Furnace
9. Tormenting Attractions


released December 1, 2018

Produced by Calcined
Recording: Calcined, Guillaume Macherel
Mixing: George (Mass Infection) (Greece)
Mastering: Serge Spiga
Cover art: Tony Koehl (US)


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Calcined Fribourg, Switzerland

Calcined is a DM band created in 2008.The songs could be seen as chaotic, irreverent and evolving with a very firm and steady rhythmic while the scathing riffings try to enthral the voice that’s searching its desperate way between these pulsating grey lights called: Dementia and Savagery. 2018 marks the 10 years of the chaos’ beginning and the release of their 2th album ... more

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