Paradise Gallows

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

I was born under a summer night’s sky, Wrapped in the gossamer of heaven’s vault. I was raised in the fields of a kingdom untamed, Versed in the lore of the cosmos’ might. Oh, how I long For a solitude so pure, Free from the uproar Of man’s loathsome song. Oh, how I long For a slumber so true, Beyond the ceaseless din Of man’s loathsome song. As a young man I’ve ventured far from youthful realm, Spellbound by the allure of a city never at peace. Here, in this obdurate heart, I’ve learned of suffering And vowed to forsake it all; to roam the stars evermore. Oh, how I long For a solitude so pure, Free from the uproar Of man’s loathsome song. Oh, how I long For a slumber so true, Beyond the ceaseless din Of man’s loathsome song. Lead me to the archer’s hold Where the curses reach no ear. I’d tether my dreams to the crescent of his bow, And hang my anathemas from the point of his arrow. Oh, how I long to breathe the same breath as the archer in the emptiness.

Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 25, 2025

As a culture, we tread crooked in the brume of unrest. As a culture, we careen down a narrow path, overgrown with blight. As a culture, we trample over the disharmony of nature’s decline. As a culture, we are rank with the miasma of oppression. We must shed the darkness of the spirit And bare our souls to the solitude of reality. We must burn all weakness in the spirit And spare our souls the misery of downfall. We must transform the core of the spirit And guide our souls to the light of wisdom. Transfigure! At Earth’s behest Transfigure! The Earth commands Man has transfigured the Earth, now we must transfigure ourselves!

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025

Many an age has lapsed since a fanfare last graced these timeworn, furrowed streets. May we mock the notion of virtue! May we mock the notion of mercy! We, the strutting herd, drift proudly beneath the corpses of trumpeters hung from long-dead trees; scorning the beggars who drink from foul ditches along these timeworn, furrowed streets. May we mock the notion of benevolence! May we mock the notion of hope! We, the strutting herd, have embraced our failure. We reap a lurid pleasure in burying once noble ideals like intelligence and compassion. We writhe enraptured in willful ignorance, apathy and rampant arrogance. We are Man, Earth’s primordial wound, and we have made no attempt to convalesce by means of enlightenment. May we burst with sepsis en masse! May the earth be awash in our purulence!

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 25, 2025

“Here, where the sun blooms with no respite, crooked men and vagabonds seek the holiness of silence.” We’ve spent a spell drifting on paths bygone, Where our voices wane against the breath of Gods. The summer drones… “Here, where the spirit is purged of all earthly trespass, crooked men and vagabonds desire a most desolate peace.” But we’ll tread on, through a season unchanged, Across barren expanse to the high desert plain Where we’ll accept our fate and take our rightful place Among the devils and thieves nailed to the Joshua trees. The summer drones on.

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 25, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

When I was young, I inflicted a heartless sin. I mocked my fate and ran wild until chance led me here, Where I grew drunk on the trace of a fermenting sun, And buried my failures beneath the ebb and flow of the tides. Time, have you forgotten my sullied name? Time, have you forgotten the shameful wounds? Time, have you forgotten the boundless grief, I so callously wrought? As the sands of time gnaw at my weathered face, I ponder more and more on the error of my ways. Time, when will you recall my prowess with a blade? Time, when will judgment finally summon me, To the gallows from which I’ll hang? And from these gallows paradise will scowl upon me. And from these gallows I’ll leer out ‘cross the sea, Laughing all the way to my grave. Laughing all the way to my grave Laughing all the way to my grave To my grave

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025

Those men who wish to exalt themselves As Gods believe they will Dwell amid the heavens forever. Those men who wish to exalt themselves As Gods will meet an ardent demise As cruel as any end they’ve overseen. “We violent ones, we last longer.” - R.M. Rilke Our barbarism knows no bounds, Our blades know not of remorse. We will tear them from their strongholds And baptize them with our savagery. We will tear them from their strongholds And judge them with eyes enlightened by death. “We violent ones, we last longer.” “We violent ones, we last longer.” Our barbarism knows no bounds; Our blades know not of remorse. Those men who wish to exalt themselves As Gods will beg for a taste of mercy; Our ears will fall deaf to their cries. Those men who wish to exalt themselves As Gods will cede to our rage; Their constellations clouded with the dust of their decay. A fist for the visage Of tyranny A blade for the throats Of tyrants And as their bloodless vessels fall from their violent constellations… “Don’t they look just like rebel angels falling down from the heavens?” – W. Jennings

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 25, 2025

Skyward we follow To paths unseen. Spirit to guide us, Continue to be. Lighting our way now… Journey back home; Finish this suffering. Never left alone… She has been set free. She will not die; She will now rest Where the earth meets the sky. The light in her eyes Burn through the night. Circles that hang, That fall and rise… Lighting our way now… Journey back home; Finish this suffering. Never left alone… She has been set free. She will not die; She will now rest Where the earth meets the sky

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025