Daily Noise: Bethlehem – Schatten aus der Alexander Welt

New album scheduled for October but this is from the mythical Dictius Te Necare. The following text is from a 1996 interview with Bartsch, explaining some of the lyrical ideas behind this song:

…all religions keep it easy with different aspects, things such as “good & evil”, “ying & yang”, “black & white”, etc. are distinguished not clear. The christian ethics speaks of decisions & deeds in order to achieve a moral, pure and personal activity. An aware behaviour shall be the base and the question is whether the behaviour is good or evil. All these religions or should I better say “individual faith” make sense to lotsa folks and basically, one shouldn’t charge such a thing. My personal problem in all those years is that such a “sense” was always refused to myself. For example, in early youth the archangels Gabriel & Michael often appeared in my dreams. It always took place in a large, dirty and dark room in the “ALEXANDER WORLD”. There was no furniture in this room except a large, dirty simple table without any ornaments or scrolls. The table stood in front of a fireside and some kind of creatures made of matches dancing to a sick & bizarre melody. Together with both archangels I watched the creature dancing to the point when it inflamed in an ear-splitting raising of that melody. During that kinda ceremony both archangels spoke to me but I couldn’t imagine the sense of what they told. I really can’t translate the words they told me into English language because such words don’t exist in your language. I experienced the “Alexander World” since my early youth and it happens like this: it often starts at night when I suddenly start remembering different smells and odours. Then I enter kinda “world” for some seconds or few minutes… it’s not the same as dreaming but similar. Sometimes it lasts like half an eternity but as I told before it never lasts longer than some seconds, okay? Well, “SCHATTEN AUS DER ALEXANDER WELT” talks about one of these incursions into that “world”. Under a highway bridge there was a rotten, old house. You know, one of these with red bricks? I entered the house and on the second floor there was a room. It seemed to be a room of a young girl. The whole room was full of blood, on the bed, on the ground, on the walls, on the ceiling. It was a perverse stench, not just rotten but fresh…such as fresh, slaughtered meat. I took a look around and watched the shelves with girl-toys on ’em. I watched the vanity bags with small, floral patterned handkerchiefs & lace scarves. After a while I discovered three diaries bound in black letter and the title on each book was “SCHATTEN AUS DER ALEXANDER WELT”. I started reading the book and quite often went back to this place and rotten atmosphere. I read the whole story of that young girl, everything was so clear, evident & unadulterated. Just the pure essence of a tender, small life…until death…until the moment when that life was murdered quite brutally and animalistically and beyond. To read such a thing and to read it in ethics defined, moral behaviour disclosed a sheer inconceivable dawn upon my myself,a dawn I witnessed just one time before. The more intense dawn however was, that I meant I would enjoy it…and probably I did. Such things force myself to write it down or translate it into music. Sometimes after having a good joint, or a good fuck or whatever, my head is full of these things and I must write ’em down. Such an attack no longer lasts more than some minutes and that’s the chance to write a poem for Bethlehem. If it’s written down I never changed it again because just the first chosen words make sense to me, no other person can possibly understand it. Bethlehem for example likes the special mood but never understands the poem by itself. Personally, I never wanted to spread a “message”…these poems have to disappear out of my brain and subconsciousness, otherwise one day I’m gonna explode and would probably take my life or others. I don’t know and never will join such a situation. All these words are part of myself and on the other hand they’re so clear and evident but on the other hand so damn strange.

Ruchloser Mörder in purpurnen Seiten
schwelgend
vergieße ich das vermalefeite Blut deines
kindlichen Leichnams
und erwarte mit bessener Hingabe
die erlösende Begierde meines vielgepriesenen
Untergangs

Gewitter zieht auf und ich fühle wie de Träne
deren Dorn tief in den Pfuhl meiner
Prophezeiung stößt

Bare Vernichtung umweht meine lässigen
Schenkel
die Mitte kann nicht länger gehalten werden
und es bedarf nur zwei Schüsse den König zu
töten

Und wenn der Zirkel der Gehenkten spricht
und das verblichene Licht in schwarzem Weine
sich bricht
wird die Buße des toten Pferdes
meiner harschen Dunkelheit anheim fallen

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