Storm Before Calm

Soiled hands of work, to pit a nations fall Skeletal hands upon the coffers of the old world Ghosts of men, re-writing history Red ink, from the well of martyrdom Words to drip from the traitors tongues Waging a war between the crimson lines The old heart of the earth Divided, poisoned, ready for the fall Valiant men, made to wear the devils mask The scapegoats for a new age Such words will bear the fruit of flesh (Today's innocence), Tomorrows finger on the trigger So, who heralds the grace of fallen empires? Hymns to the ruination of majesty He who inherits the dark crown of ill will The scorn of those deemed righteous men The gauntlet thrown, the baton tossed By statute, by law, by divine decree Impositions as kindling to the fire The old heart is beating, with ancient blood [A history passed through generations, through the ravages of time and falsity of spirit, blood remains and the circle remains unbroken, the answer to the future lays in the not too distant and dim past, and as we lay waste to the naysayers and cut the traitors tongues from their very mouths of spectre of history shall loom from the past enriched with the blood of our ancestors to pass judgement...]

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 25, 2025

Brother, what tidings doth thou bring? Can't you hear dread words from traitors tongues Sister, few honours are left standing proud In this world They have made the soil ever barren Our legends but shadows, idle and fallen to ruin My heart, knows falsehood prevails In this, the long winter of the spirit We have born witness to false judgement Yet against all this I carry the fight, beyond the ages The wolves shall echo my rallying cry An oath, sworn of ancient blood Haunting the usurpers through plague (and pestilence) Through tempest, across the raging seas (my rage) as a bolt of lightning Within a clenched fist... seeking retribution Know That when there is nothing left in this world I will come for you No ideal not scarred and worn No hope not shattered and torn I will come for you [The old heart of the earth calls it's children, children of destitution and pain, bloodied yet unbowed. We are order in the eye of chaos, the gods to the godless...]

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 25, 2025

(Nothing seems to make sense, I'm tired of it all, I've stopped searching for meanings... there are none. Time heals nothing, all it does is make you more bitter, more twisted yet sucks the life out of you... leaving you too apathetic to seek revenge. Revenge on a society that has lied to you since the day you were born. Only humanity would fill it's days with so much fucking misery to prove to itself that it must be worth something. To who?... to who are you worth something? Who would ever fucking miss you... who will miss you when you are dead? I will tell you... no one...) It's time to cast out of net To call in all the old debts To stumble over all the harsh words And heal all the wounds To steal every glance Every darkened romance And cast it to the pyre To rewrite the words, feign the phrases To finally finish those unwritten pages If I even closed the chapter on you I'm sorry, I never knew what else to do It's last call and the hour is late Time for the last nail in the coffin Then cast me to the fire... [People, places, passages in time, seizing the moment even though the slow burning pain may consume you...]

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025

My faith is written in my blood And my gods within my image I stand within the sun unblinking And rise within it's rays It is not enough to kindle the fire One must be the fire It is not enough to face tomorrow When there is time enough today So long this savage beast has been Slumbered (too long) Shackled and bound no longer For I am both sacrifice and solution Has the world made you? Have you made the world? There are strange times I ask you... Generations of messiahs As grist to the mill All with the world to sell And a world to win Yet looking no further Then yesterday Dictator Or yesterdays Traitor [Our rage insurmountable, out thirst and desire unquenchable, about seizing the day, the moment, the very fire behind the eyes, within the veins, to conquer sterility, stagnation, burn away the veils of falsehood. A natural equilibrium is restored...]

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

Shone the sunset red and solemn Where we stood and observed Down the corners of the column Letter strokes of Ogham carved 'tis belike a burial pillar Said he and those shallow lines Hold some warriors name of valour And will rightly show the signs No one saw, how far I fell And no one ever knew That there was a heart of flesh Deep within me As it was, bled of the twisted horn And the howling of the dogs Raise on old heroes lament While the weeping of women Still vexes my heart If this is my journey end Then cast me to the pyre And if all that remains Is a blackened heart And the stench of death Then know my spell is cast And sing my song With pride once more [Verse one and two are inspired by the old Irish poem (The Recovery of the Tain), Ogham is the old Irish way of writing and tells the tale of a warrior near the end of life, raising the spirit of battle once more, reaching back through his life... through the blood and pain the releasing himself to the gods... the message is simple... that your deeds in life be recounted and relived in both name and song...]

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 25, 2025

[William Butler Yeats] The host is riding from Knockarea And over the graves of Clooth-na-Bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream, The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand We come between him and the hope of his heart The host is rushing 'twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling away, come away. [Dedicated to William Butler Yeats, one of Eire's greatest sons]

Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 25, 2025