Magnetic
Juno Reactor Lyrics
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From here to this moment
Mysteries of time pulling us further
On this journey of mine. This journey divine
Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa
Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa
Crossing over water. Fly through the air
I hear you calling. My heart I declare
Head's on the highway. Stretching space
Leaving the wasteland. A world in disgrace
Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa
Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa
The lyrics of "Magnetic" by Juno Reactor convey the idea of a journey through time and space. The opening lines, "Silk and satin, our stories untold/From here to this moment," capture the sense of a story that has yet to be fully revealed. The singer, or possibly multiple narrators, is on a journey, led by the "mysteries of time pulling us further." The use of a first-person point of view indicates that the journey is personal, yet it is also a shared experience: "On this journey of mine. This journey divine."
The lyrics also evoke a sense of danger and adventure. The references to a "Hill and gully rider" and the "Inca Steppa" suggest a difficult terrain, as well as a cultural context that may be unfamiliar to the singer. The repeated refrain of "Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa" adds to the idea of a journey through an unknown and possibly treacherous landscape.
Furthermore, the lyrics suggest a spiritual or emotional journey, as well as a physical one. The singer must leave behind a "world in disgrace," perhaps a world of pain or sorrow, and travel into an unknown future, guided only by the heart's declaration and the call of an unseen force. The references to "Crossing over water" and "Fly through the air" may also hint at a transcendental experience.
Line by Line Meaning
Silk and satin, our stories untold
Our intimate and personal stories remain a secret, hidden behind the facade of luxury and lavishness
From here to this moment
Reflecting on the journey that has led us to this very instance in time
Mysteries of time pulling us further
Unsolved enigmas of existence pushing us towards new horizons and discoveries
On this journey of mine. This journey divine
The path taken is a unique and special one, one that is destined and blessed
Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa
Traveling across rugged terrain, akin to the ancient civilization of the Incas
Crossing over water. Fly through the air
Moving across various mediums and environments, whether it be water or air
I hear you calling. My heart I declare
A loved one beckoning and declaring one's devotion openly and honestly
Head's on the highway. Stretching space
Rushing down the road to expand one's surroundings and experience more of the world
Leaving the wasteland. A world in disgrace
Departing from a barren and forgotten land, filled with strife and struggle
Hill and gully rider the Inca Steppa
Once again riding through rugged and challenging terrain, reminiscent of the Incas
Contributed by Samuel N. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
Chalmer Basham
To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
Or lose ones self in a trance.....now that’s the ticket.
Really Notsure
The best JR album. Full stop. If you could only buy 1 JR album, 'Beyond the Infinite' is their most amazing offering.
Bitchute is better than Youtube
This song is like 4 minutes of intro and i love it!
rocket singh
The best trance i ve ever heard
PmalWD
what a fkn intro!!! a tune out of this freakin World!
Chalmer Basham
To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
Or lose ones self in a trance.....now that’s the ticket.
Cezar-Mihai Căuş
That's exactly what my papa used to say before bringing out the belt.
Żaneta Biesek
awesome!
rocket singh
Unearthly music.... Kudos
Abraham Saldaña
Estupendo
Zerg121
Glorious!