Black Marble Carapace

by N/ill

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Black Marble Carapace, conceptualized, written, recorded and produced by George Pemberton.

Album artwork by George Pemberton


released August 1, 2014



all rights reserved


N/ill Neukloster, Germany

George Pemberton. Since 2013.

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Track Name: Zero Point
I cut off every Limb,
Ravenous swells the nothingness,
We're to succumb,
My reticence,

There are no thoughts to speak,
I swallow myself in the aftermath,
I'm to deplete,
My Zero Point,

We alleviate our sleep,
Grievances serve the moment,
I'm yours to keep,
My dearest friend,

We'll live our fallacies/fantasies,
And wallow in atrocities,
Put us to sleep,
My Zero Point.
Track Name: L'usine
Les Aveugles

Contemple-les, mon âme; ils sont vraiment affreux!
Pareils aux mannequins; vaguement ridicules;
Terribles, singuliers comme les somnambules;
Dardant on ne sait où leurs globes ténébreux.
Leurs yeux, d'où la divine étincelle est partie,
Comme s'ils regardaient au loin, restent levés
Au ciel; on ne les voit jamais vers les pavés
Pencher rêveusement leur tête appesantie.
Ils traversent ainsi le noir illimité,
Ce frère du silence éternel. Ô cité!
Pendant qu'autour de nous tu chantes, ris et beugles,
Eprise du plaisir jusqu'à l'atrocité,
Vois! je me traîne aussi! mais, plus qu'eux hébété,
Je dis: Que cherchent-ils au Ciel, tous ces aveugles?
Track Name: Enstrangement
I want to unravel my words
A handful of silver dimes is my own reward
Bright-minded child
soothe me
to intimacy

And lance away
the crusted inflammations of the troubled man
Because I crave
the death
of myself

And there are fleshen guns to load
And there are plenty of brothers to kill
There are children infront of monuments
Awaiting your leave
and the sudden enstrangement to take root

Faded infront of lit screens
woven in elseworlds, where I lost touch of
the assets of slipping away
into white sound where I always have been
A favoured son
for my infancy

Where is the highness
Where is the lightness,
And Where is the brightness you've held
I've belled back down from the pit of my snare
tied to the armrests of clinical air
And bathed in thoughts too broad

And there are fleshen guns to load
And there are plenty of brothers to kill
There are children infront of monuments
Awaiting your leave
And the sudden enstrangement to take root

How wretched love will string every cell
Inside this sorrowed shell,
Devoid of any purpose I'll trickle trough
Painting myself in strokes of grey
This self-sick me, into self-sick days
And make me understand that I'm no carcass
But I am a carcass for two