World Music with Black Edges

Out of Africa, Mother of the species

The original tribe falling to pieces

As families diverged and spread to farther lands

We are the offspring of those traveling bands

Back to Africa, returning to the Source

Neonism revived, connecting to the Force

Hear the artillery of the Solefald gunboat

We bring you the rhythms and the stories unsought

In Kragerø, Telemark, reporting from the fjord

Tanned people row boats with children onboard

Above the codfish and mackerel, below the gulls of the sky

In these summers I grew up, so happy I could die

Writing by the sea in Norway, Kosmopolis

In the small wooden hall we wrote our « Omnipolis »

Back when the mothers still walked the Earth

The ones who raised and loved us from the moment of birth

The Kosmopolis Crew have dressed for the tropics

Back to the late 90s with the fluorescent topics

They forgot « to yourself » in the device « stay true »

The Total Orchestra come howling back at you

The motormouth verses, the Cro-Magnon grins

The Zanzibar guitar, the wild beating of skins

The synth machinery, the Gedichte of gloom

The choirs and organs, the bass lines of doom

Kosmopolis, it is something new

Kosmopolis, I have my eyes on you

Verse is the bridge, the Atlantic is the gap

Shoutout to Ill Bill for bridging it with Rap

Soldiers of Fortune, Heavy Metal Kings

How cool to be only one of those things

In 2010 « Black Metal » crossed the border

In 2000 we wrote « Open the Black Metal Order » :

« There are no Blacks in Black Metal, the name must be an error

How did this temple of sound roar into being?

Who made it the tornado it is?

The bad kids are getting old but they played is not

Open the Black Metal Order This is pain immortalized

The future is said to be many things but I predict it to be Transatlantic

Who is able to carry on through? Who is able to stay courageous? »

3rd Inhuman Music Regiment Berlin

Third Rebel for short, a think tank grey as sin

Metal should look martial, be as strict as it is stern

In the hall of arts we made the GewaltKunstWerk burn

The House of World Cultures was the place to begin

The State in Time assembled the NSK in Berlin

Aesthetes in uniforms, Microstates with riding boots

Democrats in leather, Anarchists in shooting suits

Subcultures met and offered peaceful pledges

Three days it lasted, world music with black edges

L'art est le fanatisme qui oblige à la diplomatie

À bas la Terreur, avant que tout ne finit

KOSMOPOLIS SUD

Eg hev ikkje anna å bjoda på enn emosjonell turisme

Ein feit dude i batikk som dansar til ein feit beat

Ein feit chick med glowstick stein på feil shit

I Goa ravar voodoofolket på strandi

Du kan kjenna det, rytmen er ein dansar

Du må lata musikken røra beini dine

Hopp for hyggje, hopp for hugnad

Hopp for glede, hopp for frygd

Hopp over alt som gjer livet vondt å leva

Hopp i tidi til då me dansa, syng med

Vert med til byen vår, Kosmopolis

Kryp inn i mitt hovud