I Mörkrets Timme


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In the second half of 2015 a wave of immigrants, the like of which had not been seen in decades reached Europe. They were many and they were desperate, welling in over the European borders. And in the minds of many they became just that. Volumes. A flood. A destructive force of nature. People fleeing war and prosecution were met with suspicion and border controls. Not finding any other viable routes refugees risked death to cross oceans in boats not fit for the journey.

When our compassion was put to the test it immediately buckled from fear. The fascists didn't even have to take power. They just had to open the gates to a world of suspicion, speak the words to call the fear forth. Soon the democratic parties were implementing the policies of the fascists.

The new fascism didn't hit us over the head with a batton. At least not those of us with white skin and a passport from a wealthy country. It snuck up on us and piece by piece it coerced our consent, until we found ourselves behind walls. With thousands screaming for help on the other side we allowed ourselves to become accessories. After all, it was our welfare that the walls were meant to protect.

In earnest what happened was only a logical extension of the nation state protecting its own interests. The illusion of a generous immigration policy in the name of compassion was only convenient as long as it created an aesthetically pleasing contrast to the blatantly racist bigots screaming for closed borders. When push came to shove, compassion was only a word and order had to take the front seat.

The nation state loves chaos. Chaos brings people together in the false community that is nationalism. It is in times of chaos that representatives of the authoritarian state can tell us that we really, really need them. Chaos is great as long as it can be controlled and contained outside the order of the state.

And where were we? Screaming our frustrations into our pillows or into the roaring black winds. In lack of alternatives we were dumbstruck in the shadows of the new fascism rising from the depths of European history. It wasn't a fascism that we could hit over the head with a batton. It was systemic.


Svarte tupp - svingar sin sporre
Avvikaren töms på blod
Ett revir av gudarna fått
Först bland trälar - kung av ett drömslott
Djungelns skri i hans inre
Förs bort utav vinden

Värdelös varelse
Fruktad fascist
Strävar att styra men
Kaoset kvarstår
Vind! Vad ska vi göra?
Vind! Vinden ger vi vår sång som ingen får höra

Svarte tupp - vem slipade sporren?
Späker den rädslan du bär i ditt bröst?
I mörkrets timme du gol mot skyn
Vem galer när dagen gryr?
Fall på din sporre! Ditt namn blott ett minne
Ett isande skri som ekar i vinden

Fallen furste
Blödande bödel
Kaoset kallar
En förintad fascist
Vind! Vad ska vi göra?
Vind! Sprid ut vår sång till vartenda öra!

Rep runt hans hals - låt tuppen hänga
Må allt liv fly hans vidriga lik
Vinden vajar hans ruttnande kött
Sporren runt benet glänser i rött

Allt går igen - ur tidens grums och mögel
Stiger fram en skrämmande fantom
Av de mätta framhävd, betrodd
Demokratiskt förfinad och skodd
Den svarta tuppens vålnad
Dess mörka själ
Är åter
Är här


released February 22, 2016
Recorded and mixed by Seeds in Barren Fields, mastered by Jonsson at Dark Prod. Artwork by Jack Ankersen. Layout by Xthe Beauty of LifeX

Seeds in Barren Fields is
Jens - vocals
David - bass
Kalle - guitars, vocals
Svante - guitars, vocals
Rickard - drums, vocals



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