Life is death and death is life, someday all these sweet things will be just mine.
Silent Dagger strikes the conformity of haunted night
Awakened Souls…
Are you ready to fight?
Are you ready to tear down the blue handsome light?
Some tales don’t need executable words
Some immortal tales are written not with black ink and daunting feathers but with the flaming sword
In them, dreams, the real Kingdom of every true Nord
Horizon is finally liquid,crystal red
Songs of Bravery will take us ahead, even on the eve of our material death
Avalanche of a Thousand Small Cuts
will this blessed rain of hallowed acts, ever be enough?
Countless blooming, red-stained rivers enjoy the dreamy voice of pitiful death
don’t fret,
let them be the stormbound voice of foul breath
A rotten mind and foul heart are fishing,aimlessly preying for dignified salvation
they don’t know, but they are pawns already lost in the translation
drowning in nine circles of rotating damnation
they still hope,
for a sinful and mostly painless unholy coronation
But the Black Death is their only, pleasurable invocation
for them, there will be no soothing explanation
They beg for things that are Gott sent
In reality… they are miserable, howling dogs awaiting the bitter and cruel end
Misery and apathy knows no geographical boundary
Shameless insignificant voices are bound to the hand of many rotten choices
life is a river that comes with many surprising unpaid invoices
Can we get one honest smile, not that puritanically vile?
Can we get a white horse?,
One who doent’t ride on the blackened fields filled with regret and bottomless remorse
Stay the course
stay close to the mythical and potent source
When the reddish sky, will open the final wound
dont be dumbfounded, act, dont be earthbound
Declare your autonomy, bask in your, own sovereignty
Find your solemn place
find your inner flame, your timeless grace
You were never without a face
you were never a stranger to your, own kind
your, own beautiful race
You are already known in heaven
you can see past the white prism,
you know the wisdom written behind the number seven
You are already known, to the mind of wandering stars
you were never a creature of the unholy lobotomized wars
you were never part of this putrid and meaningless farce
Can a soul be reborn?
Can a man be hopelessly torn…
What is the palpable norm?
For those who are reaching the Kingdom of white shores
landing there in the never-forgotten lands and building new sacred immortal homes,
building together a realm of eternal lores
No! you …
You were never alone
Even when misfortune was a tenant in your temple, in your home
You, my friend
You will never have to walk alone
Even when the light spirit is torn from the red flesh and white radiant bone
You were always meant to fly into the arms of the golden, northern welcoming sunrise
You were always the one who doesn’t need any direction or supplicant advice
On the golden fields, now you walk
there finally your vagabond Soul can talk
Eternal sun, eternal land
Every good friend sometimes needs a brother’s hand
Time flies
I was never a child of well, ment goodbyes
I could never see myself drowning in the most potent cries
Arise, nothing and nobody ever dies
Leave the Kingdom of the Death
You my friend
You have won this bet
You were always voice
that was heaven-sent.
A life lived right
has no silly regrets
You were the whitest voice
in the black kingdom of the death
Now my Brother you were finally given a real choice
So don’t mourn… rejoice
on your deathbed
you have obtained your real voice
Only fools think there is never a choice
You suffered well
There is a Kingdom where nobody has to yell
Travel well
Be well
Ring the last standing Bell
There is no need to write
another, postcard from Hell.
You are finally safe
your soul is sailing far away
from the black mouth of this revolving disgrace
I hate when fair words turn into another confusing cliche
Till we meet again, my brave friend
Rest in Peace…
Written for all Heroes, known or unknown…and no, not every hero needs a gun, many of them need only the power of a pen to strike a deadly blow into the heart of the enemy.
Spears and bows can be broken but the pen is a true and deadly immortal token
Righteous Ideas can never be forgotten, or in vile hatred, shamefully broken
even if they write their solemn deeds in the land of the töten.