Oceanus
(Lyrics taken from this poem by H.P. Lovecraft) It is a certain hour of twilight glooms, mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours down hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors, but showing early lamplight from snug rooms. The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists, and chimney-smoke whirls round with alien grace, heeding geometries of outer space, while Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists. This is the hour when moonstruck poets know what fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents and tints of flowers fill Nithon's continents, such as in no poor earthly garden blow. Yet for each dream these winds to us convey, a dozen more of ours they sweep away!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(Lyrics taken from this poem by H.P. Lovecraft) Deep in my dream the great bird whispered queerly of the black cone amid the polar waste; pushing above the ice-sheet lone and drearly, by storm-crazed aeons battered and defaced. Hither no living earth-shapes take their courses, and only pale auroras and faint suns glow on that pitted rock, whose primal sources are guessed at dimly by the Elder Ones. If men should glimpse it, they would merely wonder what tricky mound of Nature's build they spied; but the bird told of vaster parts, that under the mile-deep ice-shroud crouch and brood and bide. God help the dreamer whose mad visions shew those dead eyes set in crystal gulfs below!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(Lyrics taken from this poem by H.P. Lovecraft) Beyond that wall, whose ancient masonry reached almost to the sky in moss-thick towers, there would be terraced gardens, rich with flowers, and flutter of bird and butterfly and bee. There would be walks, and bridges arching over warm lotus-pools reflecting temple eaves, and cherry-trees with delicate boughs and leaves against a pink sky where the herons hover. All would be there, for had not old dreams flung open the gate to that stone-lanterned maze where drowsy streams spin out their winding ways, trailed by green vines from bending branches hung? I hurried - but when the wall rose, grim and great, I found there was no longer any gate.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(Lyrics taken from this poem by H.P. Lovecraft) Out of what crypt they crawl, I cannot tell, but every night I see the rubbery things, black, horned, and slender, with membraneous wings, and tails that bear the bifid barb of hell. They come in legions on the north wind's swell, eith obscene clutch that titillates and stings, dnatching me off on monstrous voyagings to grey worlds hidden deep in nightmare's well. Over the jagged peaks of Thok they sweep, heedless of all the cries I try to make, and down the nether pits to that foul lake where the puffed shoggoths splash in doubtful sleep. But ho! If only they would make some sound, or wear a face where faces should be found!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(Lyrics taken from this poem by H.P. Lovecraft) Sometimes I stand upon the shores where troubles vault their effluence pour and troubled waters sigh and shrieck of secrets that they dare not speak. From nameless valleys far bellow, and hills and plains no man may know, the mystic swells and sullen surges hint like accursed thaumaturges a thousand horrors, big with awe, that long-forgotten ages saw. O salt, salt winds that bleakly sweep across the barring heaving deep; O wild wan waves, that call to mind the chaos Earth hath left behind: of you I ask one thing alone; leave, leave your ancient lore unknown.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026
(Lyrics taken from this poem by H.P. Lovecraft) Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber, past the wan-mooned abysses of night, I have lived o'er my lives without number, I have sounded all things with my sight; and I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright. I have whirled with the earth at the dawning, when the sky was a vaporous flame; I have seen the dark universe yawning where the black planets roll without aim, where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name. I had drifted o'er seas without ending, under sinister grey-clouded skies, that the many-forked lightning is rending, that resound with hysterical cries; with the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise. I have plunged like a deer through the arches of the hoary primoridal grove, where the oaks feel the presence that marches, and stalks on where no spirit dares rove, and I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above. I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains that rise barren and bleak from the plain, I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains that ooze down to the marsh and the main; and in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again. I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace, I have trod its untenanted hall, Where the moon rising up from the valleys Shows the tapestried things on the wall; Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall. I have peered from the casements in wonder At the mouldering meadows around, At the many-roofed village laid under The curse of a grave-girdled ground; And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound. I have haunted the tombs of the ages, I have flown on the pinions of fear, Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages; Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear: And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer. I was old when the pharaohs first mounted The jewel-decked throne by the Nile; I was old in those epochs uncounted When I, and I only, was vile; And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle. Oh, great was the sin of my spirit, And great is the reach of its doom; Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it, Nor can respite be found in the tomb: Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom. Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber, Past the wan-mooned abysses of night, I have lived o'er my lives without number, I have sounded all things with my sight; And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 18, 2026