The Jester Race

Tired of dull ages, I walk the same ground, collecting the tragedies still Hollow ambitions in a hollow mind carried my cross to the hill And how I lust for the dance and the fire deep of the nectarine sunset to drink spill me the wind and its fire to steal of the colors - I'm the moonshield Shattered hope became my guide and grief and pain my friends a brother pact in a blood-ink penned declare my silent end Naked and dying under worlds of silent stone reaching for the moonshield that once upon us shone

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 24, 2025

This track is instrumental.

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Stood there leaning to the city moon, casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms the black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass with their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world He cried for night / but night could not come so, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away and fed the empty galleries with the artifacts of the black rain sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile He made the footprints a part of his heart to rouse a sacred confrontation Stood there carving on the monument to lies digging of the Earth, making friends with the soil as the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs he disappears into her cold, icy womb

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 24, 2025

Mankind - proud conqueror and king swings its flag of primal glory to the winds Titans of the power-myth that failed Neanderthal hunger for the flesh of war so frail So weak, so hollow-minded the primat flock responds the jester race submits For each day of war is a failure for man, enslaved in her mordial genes Illusions bleed from their fetid cores, bent to their rotten extremes We, the plague of Terra Firma, nature's grand and last mistake plant the poisoned seed of cancer, set the severed fruits awake Burning like frozen relics in god's archaic graveland Burn the visionaire Kill the ideaologies Mankind must die The doves and the angels return to their graves with flames on their pestilent wings while mushroom-clouds haunt their virginwhite skies to rape their utopian dreams Living the last days of evolution's end from the nest of humanity, the graveland vultures rend

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 24, 2025

I lie in your soothing arms, lord Hypnos your garment alive with your song I lie in your soothing arms, lord Hypnos Steep the spiral to your far abode, in the wake of slumber, on visions I rode and fell like history through the chasm of ages into the charged, forbidden zones How I have searched through a million worlds and faces yet unaware, I have not found my own true face, traceless and profound So, find me in these grandiose halls where long ago summers eternally fall and tune the strings of truthful longing to the frozen music of gods "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar" (cometh from afar) Hypnagonia's lucid horizons I play with the yearning I've quelled as I strike towards the Pantheon and what therein is held

Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 24, 2025

I bid you welcome to my world They call me existence You have just entered through the gate to your journey towards eternity This part I control In the beginning you'll fear nothing As I climb beside you Time will be your master in this laborious part of human subsistence This part I control Black clouds embraces your soul Slowly passing through repeating lacunas of anguish When time takes your life I will transfer you into the bare grip of thinking tranquility Voices frilling the emptiness of the dead floating Seamless across the surface into chilling stillness Nothing can help you now You'll never be alone again You'll never die again You'll never be born again You'll forever be, stuck here in eternity

Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 24, 2025

Rush faster on the one-way lane the answers so silent Rusty gods in their machine-minds armours grind our souls in the millstone of time the "deathbed harvest" is dead man's banquet of mould ridden bread and black, poisoned wine And we go..our steps so silent And we go..our blooded trace; The Jester Race Calling our to the gathered masses; their answers so silent And we go.. Embracing the tools of the neo-wolf age that speak of silence and silence alone Offering the tokens, the reliced idols to the heirs of the newly raped ground inferior even to the transparent winds lesser in motion and sound And we go.. There is no trace of me in their altered blueprints of life Gaia impaled on their horns and lances to fumes from her body give case as the throng of blind mind savour the scent, dream-dead from prosaic and hate Sunwind strokes the electroheart, ignition roars through the corridors, stream launching the binary vessels Vanities in extreme formation Ride into tomorrow's rigid great face The machinery outlives the futile scripts Of our dying Jester race

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 24, 2025

Towards the rich archaic heavens; towards the lack diorama you are the artist and the texture that plays with the mantle of the Earth When the bleakest of powders lie rooted to the starched stones and roots that feed the peaking trees embrace the sleeping shores Archaic pearls of sleep and death the voice of December losing its breath and the floweryard of white and grey is haunted... is haunted White as the down of flaking snow, the heroic emblems of life Green is the color of my death as the winter-guise I swoop towards the ground Green is the landscape of my sorrow-filled passing Archaic pearls of sleep and death the voice of December losing its breath and the floweryard of white and grey is haunted... is haunted White as the down of flaking snow, the heroic emblems of life We are In Flames, towards the dead archaic heavens We are the mantle and the texture the alters the mantle of the Earth Archaic pearls of sleep and death the voice of December losing its breath and the floweryard of white and grey is haunted... is haunted White as the down of flaking snow, the heroic emblems of life

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 24, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

To slit the grinning wounds from childhood's seven moons the palette stained with the ejaculated passions (of forbidden, hedonistic colors...) Strike from omnipotence; all-seer, all-deemer and haunt my severed country with your dripping, secret games You pick the unripe lilies deflored and peeled the bleeding petals made known to me the grainy stains, the crimson lotus of the Black-Ash Inheritance, the semen feed of gods and masters The worms still in me, still a part of me, racing out from leaking rooms, swoop from broken lungs to block the transmission to put an end to the nomad years Father you are the dead god in me

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 24, 2025