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Four ways to see Joyce.


released July 20, 2014

Recorded at the Hayets'studio
Mixed by MatBungle
Mastered by Eric Dorléans (
Cover by Laga from Lagraphisme.
Drawings by le Marcheur sélénite


all rights reserved



SELENITE Bayonne, France

Quand on emprunte la hargne sensible du blues et la candeur de la folk minimaliste, on obtient un rock acoustique des plus singuliers.
SELENITE nous sert ce breuvage avec une voix puissante et chancelante mêlée à un amour pleinement assumé pour les langues anglo-saxonnes.
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Track Name: Joyce
There are countries little Joyce,
Thousands and thousands of lands
With no other noise
But a faithful silence from within
Those times your looking at your hands
Counting wrinkles and lifelines
No visions have dried your eye
Their lullabies could heal your soul

But you know, that cataract can be broken with a few lovely notes
Will they act against my wrongs ?

Did you lead me to the stars, did you guide me to the joy
And if these helps me to win wars, should I kiss you little Joyce ?
Track Name: Self-arsonist
Hide the threat in whatever you make
Clean the stains into blessing flames
Change the rules from your dirty room and
Face the truth with the dual wane

Grow up little flame
Start to ease the shame
Call me threat
Strike your match right now
You're the self-arsonist
How to get it out ?

I'm the voice yelling everything
The hidden god that let you swing
Blind, deaf, straight ahead
Step by step to your sleeping hates

Grow up little flame
Burn the places I love to pull me out
Strike your match right now
The self-arsonist dies here in this house
The self-arsonist dies here in my house.
Track Name: The grave your silence digs
Raise up your voice, dear Joyce
Cause you're the one who can see
What music means to me
So raise up your voice, dear Joyce

And when the silence digs a grave
It seems that I'm enslaved
Or chained to your voice
My Joyce
Track Name: Ode of the undressed
I've seen the end, I've tasted the last smiles
The torn up ones are warming up the odes.

Lend me bright light for the boring men
May their sharpened knives melt into your hands
And keep my soul from the snow flakes
Eternal winters've blown my frozen legs

Undressed trees, curved under the white
All gazing at me, they won't bring me the night

The torn up ones are warming up the odes

Lend me relief for my damaged hands
May the sharpened knives melt into the sun
And keep my soul from the snow flakes
Eternal winters've blown my frozen legs

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