Summit

Waves crash down, unrelenting, unending. We are stone shaped by the force of its abuse; colossal mountain ranges eroded to jagged shorelines; aged cliff tops, decrepit and helpless; earthen cadavers now ripe for mining to the very core of our souls. Or so we would have you think. Magic is willpower. Willpower is magic. Self-knowledge is the key to the perfect control of the will. After destroying the decades of our youth, after being crushed under the pillars of heaven--the bonds we make and the bonds we break ever come crashing down.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 26, 2025

Behold! this ancient ritual, this divine act. The one clear way to transcend the boundaries of the corporeal plane is to merge our flesh. The co-mingling of our physical beings opens the doorways to the ethers, to vivid truth. I consume you and, in turn, I am consumed by you. Love is the law, love under will. The purest connection, the strongest bond. All of the struggles, the weaknesses and faults, slip away. All of the masks, the anger and secrecy, slip away. Essence unveiled. The universe revealed.

Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 26, 2025

The exhortations of traditionalism ring hollow: the echoing footsteps of cross-bearing martyrs, the rejection of free will, the inability to meet the challenge of critical thought and individualism. Heads bowed and eyes closed to the joys of today. Three things only do slaves require: work, food, and their religion. Those callous-kneed ringer-kissers. The eyes of providence are blinded to the suffering that surrounds. True compassion is drowned by the baying and shuffle of the flock, bleating through a self-constructed hell. The fire in your heart is out. That once blazing light wreathed in the gloom of depravity, that unwavering standard to rally behind, that intellectual harvest--it's now barren and wasted, strangled by weeds of complacency, frozen and bloodless in passion's tomb. I must escape sentimentality; clear away these dusty, maudlin affections; turn my back on the corpse of the past; learn to accept the death of ideals. Everything has changed. Nothing has changed.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

I'm ashamed of running away from nothing at all. I just can't deal with these feelings any more. But when I look around at the fiends who would needle away my resolve, who would recreate me in their image, I recognize their insignificance. And so the winds of history disperse the fog of mysticism. The weeds of technology, those vast mechanical growths, release their stranglehold on culture. We call to the blackest sun to wither away. And I seek an end. If I could but see it. And by the actions of my own hands, it is revealed. This new epoch when mastery has turned to fellowship, when those with a hatred for life have seen an end to their own: these intellectuals who replaces facts with their mythologies, these tiresome brutes who violently sustain might makes right pedagogy. A new world springs from the corpse of the old. Our most ephemeral desires and our most treasured dreams lay the foundation for a brilliant new reality. Social interaction is no longer defined by dutiful sadism. The death of the system, the system of death. This will be the day.

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Apr 26, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?