No Language from No Language by Mission to the Sun

Down on the pavement
Below the clattering scales of balance
Into clay built walls
The necklace of pearls is inwoven

Silenced but not convinced
When the story was ended
The blacksmith stood like a man
Who wants to speak
But finds no language

All his thoughts
Congealed into lines in his face
As the vapors freeze
In fantastic shapes
On the window panes

In the course of time
Laws of the land are corrupted
Weak are oppressed
And mighty rule with an iron rod
Meanwhile apart
In the twilight of windows’ embrasure
Set lovers and whispered
Together beholding the moonrise

All of his thoughts
Congealed into lines in his face
As the vapors freeze
In fantastic shapes
On the window panes

• Electronic
• experimental
• goth
• industrial
• post-punk
• punk
• Detroit