A Mind Without a Brain
from The Mothman by Thiago Desant
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lyrics
In the desert vast, where shadows roam,
I wandered far, I roamed alone.
Beneath the sun's relentless gaze,
Through sandy dunes and endless days.
A wanderer lost, in the arid sea,
Until a mirage, a diner, called to me.
Red walls gleamed in the sun's cruel kiss,
A haven discovered, something amiss.
On the diner doorstep, I wander near,
Red walls and a sign, 'Bubble One' is clear.
A flag waving red, atop the scene,
Like a soft drink brand in a wild dream.
Monsters, pink and huge, like jelly, they sway,
Gooey beings in the fading day.
Behind the diner, they move slow,
A foggy lot, where old cars go.
Giant smiles, those monsters share,
In the misty air, they seem to glare.
Abandoned cars and a fading light,
In this strange world, we meet tonight.
In a sky bereft of clouds, no veil of gray,
Yet, the rhythm of rain in my ears holds sway.
Brown noise persists, hisses and pops abound,
In my moth ears, whispers of a mysterious sound.
Do I hear through them, or are these echoes old?
Sounds linger, memories untold.
A mind without a brain, can such a thing be?
Do moths gather knowledge and share it with the free?
The air, a canvas where whispers take flight,
Do I exist within, or am I empty space in the night?
Questions weave through the fabric of my mind,
Am I the air, a formless being undefined?
Could I be space, elusive and vast?
Yet, how can emptiness hold memories that last?
Does time itself possess a thoughtful mind,
Am I the dance of space and time combined?
If I am here, present in this fleeting now,
What underlies, permeates, and shapes somehow?
Illusory or not, I am here, I am aware,
As thoughts fade, what remains in the air?
Perhaps only 'I,' stripped to the core,
A presence lingering, forevermore.
Upon the diner's door, I'm near,
My mothy hand struggles, heavy and clear.
Can't push it open, it won't yield,
Someone comes, my fate revealed.
"You lost?" she asks, eyes wide,
A mothy stranger is here to dine.
"You not scared?" I reply, bona fide,
Silent stare, a moment's rhyme.
"Aren't you scared of my moths?" I inquire once more,
Can she perceive? A challenging lore.
No mouth have I to speak, yet words take flight,
In my winged tongue of the night.
"I sought understanding," she spoke with grace,
"Your winged tongue unfolds," my thoughts embrace.
My moths flutter, striving to articulate,
Sculpting the air, speaking efforts they make.
"Why would I be afraid?" she answers, resolute,
Of moths and mysteries, I'm astute.
Not scared, she declares with no dismay,
"Know I have enough bug spray."
I wandered far, I roamed alone.
Beneath the sun's relentless gaze,
Through sandy dunes and endless days.
A wanderer lost, in the arid sea,
Until a mirage, a diner, called to me.
Red walls gleamed in the sun's cruel kiss,
A haven discovered, something amiss.
On the diner doorstep, I wander near,
Red walls and a sign, 'Bubble One' is clear.
A flag waving red, atop the scene,
Like a soft drink brand in a wild dream.
Monsters, pink and huge, like jelly, they sway,
Gooey beings in the fading day.
Behind the diner, they move slow,
A foggy lot, where old cars go.
Giant smiles, those monsters share,
In the misty air, they seem to glare.
Abandoned cars and a fading light,
In this strange world, we meet tonight.
In a sky bereft of clouds, no veil of gray,
Yet, the rhythm of rain in my ears holds sway.
Brown noise persists, hisses and pops abound,
In my moth ears, whispers of a mysterious sound.
Do I hear through them, or are these echoes old?
Sounds linger, memories untold.
A mind without a brain, can such a thing be?
Do moths gather knowledge and share it with the free?
The air, a canvas where whispers take flight,
Do I exist within, or am I empty space in the night?
Questions weave through the fabric of my mind,
Am I the air, a formless being undefined?
Could I be space, elusive and vast?
Yet, how can emptiness hold memories that last?
Does time itself possess a thoughtful mind,
Am I the dance of space and time combined?
If I am here, present in this fleeting now,
What underlies, permeates, and shapes somehow?
Illusory or not, I am here, I am aware,
As thoughts fade, what remains in the air?
Perhaps only 'I,' stripped to the core,
A presence lingering, forevermore.
Upon the diner's door, I'm near,
My mothy hand struggles, heavy and clear.
Can't push it open, it won't yield,
Someone comes, my fate revealed.
"You lost?" she asks, eyes wide,
A mothy stranger is here to dine.
"You not scared?" I reply, bona fide,
Silent stare, a moment's rhyme.
"Aren't you scared of my moths?" I inquire once more,
Can she perceive? A challenging lore.
No mouth have I to speak, yet words take flight,
In my winged tongue of the night.
"I sought understanding," she spoke with grace,
"Your winged tongue unfolds," my thoughts embrace.
My moths flutter, striving to articulate,
Sculpting the air, speaking efforts they make.
"Why would I be afraid?" she answers, resolute,
Of moths and mysteries, I'm astute.
Not scared, she declares with no dismay,
"Know I have enough bug spray."
credits
from The Mothman,
released January 3, 2024
license
all rights reserved
tags
about
Phantoms Vs Fire Brazil
composer. sound artist. made of sound. silence. and flashing lights.
“We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”
― Anaïs Nin
discography
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Apr 2024 -
Mar 2024 -
Jun 2023 -
Dec 2023
contact / help
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