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Asylum

Crass
Language: English

List of versions


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[1978]
Dal primo LP dei Crass, "The Feeding of the 5000", che ebbe una storia tormentata dalla censura.
All’epoca i Crass ancora non si autoproducevano (ma lo avrebbero fatto subito dopo questa vicenda) e la Small Wonder Records cedette alle proteste contro il testo ritenuto “blasfemo” di “Asylum”. Il brano fu eliminato e sostituito con due minuti di silenzio intitolati “The Sound Of Free Speech”. I Crass impararono la lezione e quell’anno stesso fondarono la Crass Records, il cui primo atto fu l’edizione su 7” di “Asylum” rivista, ampliata e “indurita”, ribattezzata (scusate se parlo di battesimo!) “Reality Asylum”.

Entrambe le versioni si concludono con la celebre frase "Jesus died for his own sins, not mine" che costituisce una risposta alla "Jesus died for somebody's sins, but not mine" con cui Patti Smith introduceva la sua cover di "Gloria" dei Them di Van Morrison, in apertura del suo primo album "Horses" del 1975.
I am no feeble Christ not me.
He hangs in glib delight upon his cross,above my body.
Christ forgive.
FORGIVE? I vomit for you Jesu.
Shit forgive.
Down now from your cross.
Down now from your papal heights, from that churlish suicide, petulant child.
Down from those pious heights, royal flag bearer, goat, billy.
I vomit for you.
Forgive? Shit he forgives.
He hangs in crucified delight nailed to the extend of his vision, his cross, his manhood, violence, guilt, sin.
He would nail my body upon his cross, suicide visionary, death reveller, rake, rapist, lifefucker, Jesu, earthmover, Christus, gravedigger,
you dug the pits of Auschwitz, the soil of Treblinka is your guilt, your sin,
master,
master of gore, enigma.
You carry the standard of your oppression.
Enola is your gaiety.
The bodies of Hiroshima are your delight the nails are your only trinity,
hold them in your corpsey gracelessness, the image I have had to suffer.
The cross is the virgin body of womenhood that you defile.
You nail yourself to your own sin.
Lamearse Jesus calls me sister there are no words for my contempt,
every woman is a cross in is filthy theology,
in his arrogant delight. He turns his back upon me in his fear,
he dare not face me.
Fearfucker.
Share nothing you Christ, sterile, impotent, fucklove prophet of death.
You are the ultimate pornography, in your cuntfear, cockfear, manfear, womanfear, unfair, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare, warfare.
JESUS DIED FOR IS OWN SINS, NOT MINE.

Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/1/15 - 12:02




Language: English

La versione "uncensored" ed "extended" dal primo disco autoprodotto dalla band, il 7" "Reality Asylum" del 1978.
REALITY ASYLUM

I am no feeble Christ, not me
He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
Above my body, lowly me
Christ forgive, forgive?
Holy He, He holy, He holy?
Shit He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
Christy Christus
Puke upon your papal throne
Wrapped I am in the muddy cloud
Of hellish genocide
Petulant child
I have suffered for you
Where you have never known me
I too must die
Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?
Your valley truth
What light pass those pious heights?
What passing bells for these in their trucks?
For you lord.
You are the flag-bearer of these nations
One against the other that die in the mud
No piety. No deity
Is that your forgiveness?
Saint. Martyr. Goat. Billy.
Forgive? Shit he forgives
He hangs upon his cross
In self-righteous judgment
Hangs in crucified delight
Nailed to the extend of His vision
His cross. His manhood. His violence. Guilt. Sin.
He would nail my body upon his cross
As if I might have waited for him in the garden
As if I might have perfumed His body
Washed those bloody feet
This woman that he seeks
Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist.
Gravedigger. Earthmover. Lifefucker. Jesu.
You scooped the pits of Auschwitz
The soil of Treblinka is rich in your guilt
The sorrow of your tradition
Your stupid humility is the crown of thorn we all must wear.
For you. Ha. Master. Master of gore. Enigma. Stigma. Stigmata. Errata. Eraser.
The cross is the mast of our oppression.
You fly there, vain flag.
You carry it, wear it on your back, Lord. Your back.
Enola is your gaiety.
Suffer little children (to come unto me)
Suffer in that horror. Hirohorror. Hirrohiro. Hiroshimmer. Shimmerhiro.
Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima.
The bodies are your delight
The incandescent flame is the spirit of it
They come to you Jesu. To you
The nails are the only trinity
Hold them in your corpsey gracelessness
The image that I have had to suffer
These nails at my temple
The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
That you defile
In your guilt you turn your back
Nailed to that body
Lame-arse Jesus calls me sister
There are no words for my contempt
Every woman is a cross in filthy theology
He turns His back on me in His fear
His vain delight is that pain I bear
Alone He hangs. His choice. His choice
Alone. Alone. His voice. His voice
He shares nothing, this Christ
Sterile. Impotent. Fucklove prophet of death
He's the ultimate pornography
He. He. Hear us Jesus
You sigh alone in your cockfear
You lie alone in your cuntfear.
You cry alone in your womanfear.
You die alone in you manfear.
Alone Jesu, alone
In your cockfear. Cuntfear. Womanfear. Manfear.
Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear.
Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.

Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/1/15 - 12:04




Language: Italian

La versione italiana di Carmine Mangone
Non sono scema Cristo io no. Appeso con risibile piacere alla sua croce, sul mio corpo. Cristo perdona. PERDONA? Vomito a causa tua Jesu. Perdonare un cazzo. Scendi giù dalla tua croce. Giù dalle tue altezze papali, dal tuo suicidio volgare, bambino petulante. Giù dalle tue pie altezze, portabandiera del regno, capro, agnello. Vomito a causa tua. Perdona? Perdona un cazzo. Se ne sta attaccato alla sua delizia crocifissa, inchiodato alla vastità della sua visione, la sua croce, la sua virilità, violenza, colpa, peccato. Inchioderebbe volentieri il mio corpo alla sua croce, suicida visionario, portatore di morte, smunto stupratore, Jesu lo strafottente, Christus il becchino, scavafosse, tu hai scavato le tombe di Auschwitz, la terra di Treblinka è la tua colpa, il tuo peccato, maestro, maestro del sangue rappreso, enigma. Tu porti lo stendardo dell’oppressione. Enola è la tua allegria. I corpi di Hiroshima sono il tuo diletto, i chiodi sono la tua unica trinità, tienteli nella tua cadaverica scelleratezza, l’immagine per la quale ho dovuto soffrire. La croce è il corpo vergine della femminilità che tu profani. Ti sei inchiodato al tuo stesso peccato. Cristo rottinculo che mi chiama sorella, non ci sono parole per il mio disprezzo, ogni donna è una croce per la sua lurida teologia, per il suo piacere arrogante. Mi volta le spalle per paura, non osa guardarmi in faccia. Stupratore per paura. Non meriti niente Cristo, sterile, impotente, mortifero profeta d’amore del cazzo. Tu sei la pornografia definitiva, nella tua paura della fica, paura del cazzo, paura dell’uomo, paura della donna, infame, guerra, guerra, guerra, guerra, guerra, guerra, guerra, guerra. GESÙ È MORTO PER I SUOI PECCATI, NON PER I MIEI.

Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2017/11/7 - 21:19



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