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.