Ban All Lights
Four horses pull the chariot. Across eroded pathways they're sent. His fingers blue with cold try to hold the reins. This trail's made for the hardest grimness. A dismal transport watched through a spyglass. The carter throws an anxious glance back to face the wife behind the bars. The cage rolls straight into perdition, both bitterly regret the ride. A man sent on a desperate mission, she put her spyglass aside. The twilight's getting denser, his whiplash fades in silence. The forests are coming closer, fear grows in her blue eyes. Wind's blowing from the mountains, four horses urged to gather way. A chill breeze from blue lips sent through the valley of the ice queen's sway. The cage is made for both sides, a chamber play to cover. A final call to offer his devotion and surrender. This trail leads into chaos, he's pondering his chances. A look into her opened eyes, the ice queen put her hands upon her shrine.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
The stench of putrescent, organic loss to pay the swamp homage. It swallows the trustful cretins, the duty of a pilgrimage. Beneath dense reed the lizard is lurking around. His black seed is ready to enter. You see what a fortress to damage, a stronghold of reveries to fold. The swamp's bearing creatures of carnage to drown in the shadow of his somber gestalt.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
Far from the land and behind the horizon a fleet is sailing westwards. It carries the instruments for his triumph, old soldiers acknowledged with awards. Far from the land in the depths of the oceans is hiding the arbiter of doom. And the soldiers are longing for the coasts and their residents to propitiate Neptune. Wrathful Triton, remove your seal and visit the ancestors in their tombs. Your feastful, blazoned, highly praised carriers of your breedings in their wombs. And the thirteen moons are observing with pride, when the wooden planks of the ships are torn from the inside, when the betrayed soldiers are pulled within the breeze, when the fourteenth moon's unleashing the ...beasts of the seas.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
With a winter wind cold steam drifts above the rail. And the icy frost presents its claws to prevail against the light. A story of a culture to surrender, the spirit of the forbears to be sold. The ghosts of our memories to tender, along the rails I'm getting old. The rhythm of the ties underlines the wasteful ride. And the misty view underpins the atmosphere of this dying light. And with the howling winds comes a pain of the past. And with the rolling steam comes a grief to last. A story of a culture to surrender, the spirit of the forbears to be sold. The ghosts of our memories to tender, along the rails I'm getting old.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
The traces of Eurydice led to the bastard son of Cronus. A gothic masonry towered at the cliffs. A dime to pay and a death to whiff. Through a corridor of dismay and a hall of void so monotonous. Eurydice, my unblemished inheritress. Come walk with me in life and death. Eurydice, to ravish and oppress. Come walk with me in life and death. Brave and proud she stands, facing the adamant one. No more a slave but a bitch, waiting for the payback to come. Eurydice, you'll inflict death in the end. Eurydice, come walk with me hand in hand.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
From an old man's twice told winter tale. Awkward characters arise. There's lost wisdom under their temples to unveil. Excavate the legacy of the sons of ice. Release their force, a nightmare for the weak. Accede their hordes, a cold breeze to Egeria's creek. Sons of ice, damp those fires. Dim their lanters and fear will rise. Sons of ice, if life retires, darkness admires these fading skies. When the temple is falling to the ground, the seventh of the dead six, a running vestal pretty, is fleeing from the place, after they took the city. ...the sons of ice.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
Born below, nurtured by chaos, appropriate instruments of force. Reared by wrath, for ages neglected, brooding for revenge. Picking up the weapons and blowing the trumpets. He gathers the hordes and leads them to the mountain. Where mankind's to butcher and lifelines to turn, kings to dethrone and castles to burn down to the ground. The firstborn son's claiming his reward. The damaged one's coming to sort. Raising chaos with the head of the prince. A front of darkness, his power to convince. Blowing trumpets, the call of war. Sputtering titans are releasing the total horror. Burning their temples and dissecting their priests. He's leading his hordes by riding the beast. There are idols to ruin, systems to clash, gods to defeat and beliefs to crash down to the ground. Ram down their gates and break their walls. And haul their fucking king right through the streets. Wipe off the haze, the curtain falls. A new born thing brings new beliefs.
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026
Many of them lay to rest. A sort of a black veil afflicts and winds like a tourniquet, strangling the city's veins. Frantic old men try to keep Vesta's fire. But suffering then, when dark ships are landing at Tyre. Many of them bring the pest. A sort of a black veil afflicts, and winds like a tourniquet, strangling the city's veins. Many souls feed the flames but no soul to resist. Dark fingers grasp the sun and tear it down to earth. Another age to come. Nothing to fight, step aside and ban all lights...
Submitted by Nargaroth — Jun 19, 2026