La Chaise-Dyable (English translation)

La Chaise-Dyable (2015)

Peste Noire - La Chaise-Dyable

(Unless otherwise indicated, lyrics were translated by M. D. L. & L’Atrabilaire, courtesy of La mesnie Herlequin.)

headerchaise

Go here for translations of the other Peste Noire albums.

Avant le putsch [Before the putsch]

One cushy day in Haute-Loire
I’m tickling my pickle in hearing the geese cackle
And the humming of the tractor nearby
Running up till night.
I wipe up my spunk and I turn on the telly
Mmm… It whiffs of a spanking
Some buddies try to storm the Elysee
Surrounded worse than in the Coliseum…
In breastplates, helmets and hoods, hey lads
They’re up for some jousts.
Towards Paris suddenly we rise
For the last chance
To see again our setting France
Radiate just after the storm
Of the last putsch.

BatardKlan

 

Le dernier putsch [The last putsch]

downwiththesickness

Showers of bombs
In the metropoles:
Our worst hounds step out of shadows
To blast the capital.
Let your towers of glass and of steel,
Crumble and fall.
May they roll,
In a diabolical storm,
On their very makers.
And your icons, and your crowds,
And your merchants, adorned with crowns
May they with them
Melt down like butter
May they feed then
As cream the gutter.
May they offer us the joyous collation
Of their soft putrefaction,
We’re Peste Noire the faction
Against the modern world.

With a bat we’ll healbatskininsane
The technocrat
We’ll pierce the golden boy
Through his heart.
On top we’ll re-establish
The aristocrat.
As for the Republic, we’ll ruin
Her cunt.

With a bat we’ll heal
The plutocrat.
We’ll pierce the speculator
Through his heart.
On top we’ll re-establish
The aristocrat.
Democracy – we’ll ruin
Your cunt.

Hooliganism is my blood
And my spirit is elitist
With a knife or a rod
We’ll cross you off the list.
The metropolis is in confusion
We came to take some action.
It’ll make Willy erect
To see your big trunk on a picket.
This is my pack, these are your fellows,
Yeah it’s a riot, now back off
We’re causing too much chaos…

Payés sur la bête [Taking our pound of flesh]

crew

Europe you’re old, weary and castrated
Your illness, Europe, is the intellectual.
Where have your berserkers and your Astraeas migrated
Once so quick to puncture the spleen of these cockroaches in dual?

When will we see again those happier days,
These exciting games?
Of students launched from catapults
In ponds of piss, amphibians
And excrements?
May they study sex with crawling animals…

At the Coliseum the irksome mouth breathers
The phrase-touts from the ultra-left
Let’s cut their dirty ugly boorish heads
And carve for ourselves masks
With their dead faces.skins

Ribbit!
Chirps the ugly AIDS toad which suckles from your body
For me
He wants to do bad things to you,
Stuff oh so gory
So get back to your mother on time,
Go read
Before I shove an inverted
Cross up your shitter
We challenge the spirits…

Big boss Satan in this life may we just
Dominate
Drink
Shit
Kill
O Domine!

Spitting our
Spunk
In
Their
Slick-backed
Hair.

Impale
The
Ugly
On their
Ukuleles.

Pounding the snatches
Of their
Wenches
Making them
Ululate.

(Feat. Fabienne the bitch)

Singing somepolskipunches
Noire
Peste
While
Urinating.

‘What are those
Black
Beasts?’
Our prisoners
Shout.

Awooooo! Awooooo! Awooooo!
Awooooo! It’s feast day
Awooooo! While you pray
Awooooo! We break your ribs
With a nunchaku.

Awooooo! We’re gross soldiers
Awooooo! And as for the traitors
Awooooo! We cut their heads
To shit down their necks.

Reibel machine gun, Merce-Benz,
Make room for your new lords!
Even if they’re awful, we’ll fuck your virgins
Their heads stuck in toilet macerators.

Your villa and your joy go up in smoke
As soon as we put a foot down your block
We stink so much that even Febreze
Can’t clear out our pheromones.

Le Diable existe [The Devil exists]

Act 1: Inside

The dust forms
A woolen rug.lechatquirit
I’m not quite on form
And smell from my mug.
Bottles litter the kitchen
It’s -20 outside
A Saracen’s temperature
In the light of my icy mood.
The hairs that touch me
Of my lil’ catties
And the water from my shower
Are my only heat.
In this prison of conifers
Where there is really nothing to do
Except drink like a sailor
And compose that kind of fanfares.

In the Livradois
O you’re free
Not to cut your arms
And accept the laws

Of frost, of vacuum
Of abandonment
Of cold.

2nd act: Outside

Studded tyres, bolt upright in the seat
I scurry forth at 130drive
In the snow.
A flight
Of red kites
Form an escort above
My ride.

Death. Desolation.
Gloom. Problematic,
Ghostly evocations
For a neurasthenic
Brain.

A burg’s skeleton whose heart is an aster.
At the windows
Closed shutters.
The widow of a farmer
– the only soul in the village –
Takes off her fallow
Laundry.

Death. Desolation.
Gloom. Problematic,
Ghostly evocations
For a neurasthenic
Brain.

3rd act: Night

I took you for a comrade
Sister Nature! Old France!neige
But you’re too dirty…
Your kites have left me stranded
Carrying the day away with them;
I spin I slip into the cold night
Surrounded by all that is old
And in my dark ride
I glimpse the enemy of God.

Death. Desolation.
Gloom. Problematic,
Ghostly evocations
For a neurasthenic
Brain.

4th act: Satan

Back in my home of cob
Alone
Facing myself
I fill my cup
With Walsheim
To forget
These afternoons
With postmortem tones.

THE DEVIL EXISTS / THE THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / YES THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / THE THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / YES THE DEVIL EXISTS.
He gave me the taste for sad things,
For the mud and the dark, for sinister places,
And since I live there nailed up like Christ
He changes these places of art
In cysts.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / THE THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / YES THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / THE THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / YES THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / THE THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / YES THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / THE THE DEVIL EXISTS.
THE DEVIL EXISTS / YES THE DEVIL EXISTS.

À la Chaise-Dyable [At la Chaise-Dyable]

lachaise

It’s 4 PM, the sun is falling, it’s time
For some ruddy-amber Jenlain Picon.
I’m going wild, brain over stretched,
I turn on my stereo, BM at full volume all night long I stay awake…
Every night I keep awake
At la Chaise-Dyable.

At la Chaise-Dyable
The mountain air is a more powerful drug than the strongest psychoactive.
At la Chaise-Dyable
The cold breath of the forests comes sweeping into the parishes
And howls like a devil, bouncing against the abbey – that impenetrable fortress –
Where wild and rebellious monks dress like crows
And all have faces taken straight from the Middle Ages.

Below my home there’s the Senouire valley. The old people wonder why I moved here. I tell them that I like the landscapes. They answer: You like ghosts?

Later, at 11 PM, I hear the sound of a tractor, I take a look out the window: it’s the old man who plows like a trooper.

In the vales of the non-being

I measure the point to which this lonely guy, all these lonely people, must bend double under the weight of all these gloomy nights.

I remember that just behind my house that empty farm belonged to two blokes who committed suicide, and that the other neighbour beyond it also bought the farm of a hanged guy. And I begin to feel depressed.

Thinking of all these villages whose cemeteries are bigger than the scatter of houses, and whose war memorial bear more names than their living inhabitants.

hivernal

I’m thinking about my life, this dark tale written by a sadist
Where I see as clearly as through a glory hole
Then I’m having hot sweats, a lumbago
I sweat halos,
Tears of alcohol.

I remember hatred
When I was crazy, when I was alive
And then the nights in La Chaise-Dieu
When I took more pleasure in drinking
Than in fucking.
I wanted to be a survivalist
But as the spleen is my queen
I ended up deceasalist
A disheartened asshole
In the heart of a wooded hole…

When I arrived here there was a Christ in the attic
I stuck it on my guitar
Upside down.
Am I going crazy or what, believe it ot not?
But in a good old sardonic French
This statue is now yelling to me:

‘Come on, you’ve killed no one
Wait for your end to come
This life was your punishment
And peacefully
You’ve served your sentence.

Come on, you’ve killed no one
May your liver abandon you
This life taunted you like a hyena
But quietly
You’ve eaten your hatred.’

guitar

And calmly, I ate my hatred.
And calmly, I ATE MY HATRED.

Quand je bois du vin [When I drink wine]

When I drink wine
My friend everything spinsvin
So from now on I drink night and day.

Let’s sing and drink
Let’s eat and laugh
Let’s wage war on this bottle.

When I drink wine
My friend the wheel spins
And sadness doesn’t hurt me much

And the joy springs
From Anjou and from Arbois
The joy that will knock us all
Down in the end.

When I drink wine
Friend my liver spins
So this bottle declared war on me

And my vomit springs
On your wooden table
The vomit that your mother
Will clean.

Dans ma nuit [In my night]

In my night
Harsh, glazed and stinking, full of wolf dens where it rains
Showers of ploughshares, downpours of lead shot and woe
In my night where it rains
O my unlucky star
Magenta-blue hued
You came to weave your web
Bathed in misshapen purple lights
Born from half-life.

In my night
Black, perpetual and dense
In this damn
Auditorium of Le Thor
I tasted your dance
Golden brown horse
As strong as my future
Addiction.

In our nights
Of Frigolet
The Abbey
Resounded
With our devilries
And Neige dissolved
In the light of your artifice
And your lies.

Psychiatry…
A new night
My only friends
Some mongoloids
Who howl like babes
Like the songs which beckon us
All to quicklyhell
Fade…

Psychiatry…
A new night
It’s here
That you left me
Well, yeah!
In my nights
In my night…
In my… life.

In my night
I’ve been here at least
Thirty one years
Where I’ve been sweating
Where I’ve been scorning
Where I’ve been sucking
Like a dog
That rotten bone
Tasting like Suze
So poisonous
So bitter
And foul
Tasting of shit
Of melancholy.
And it’s not even your fault
Old friend
If in your bullshit existence
I’m like a dissonance
A hit-and-run in my labyrinthine night
Caught up by my genetic plight
Searching without GPS for your daylight
But as always
Caught for exceeding the spleen limit…
Dragged over to the verge of the road
Head smashed in
Like my dad on his bike
That ugly summer.

About degtyarov (121 Articles)
Molotov cocktail in the face of music whorenalism.

1 Comment on La Chaise-Dyable (English translation)

  1. Songs about leading an armed coup to re-establish absolute monarchy? Famine must have been reading his Mishima…

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