Human Antithesis

I. The Dream Ends This is where the dream ends Where the soul of every man and woman is broken Where you carry your crippled children in hope of salvation And you will lay them down to die For salvation does not come And the worth you have placed upon your life is finally revealed as nothing (x2) Your weeping and wailing shall assuage no god Let these words echo deep, deep into your heart Cease your weeping and wailing No one can hear you No one can hear you My words will cut your flesh like a knife. For you shall hear them again And again (x5) You will hear these words again and again and again II. Empty Prayers You can pray to God You can pray to Allah You can pray to whomever He will not hear you Your empty prayers You embarrass yourself Like some infected junkie You're searching for a fix. Your god is a needle Your god is rusted razor The filth in your blood The filth in your vein III. Black Propaganda No machine will grind your bones to dust This machine will grind your bones to dust Like it has ground every generation before you And only now the stakes are higher And only now the machine runs faster Children, I call you to war Was it for this your ancestors died? Was it for this the land was stained blood red. Here and now we face the end of all things, The final and the absolute. Planting seeds within The nuclear generation, planting hope where there was none. A hope that we may sweep all before us and crush their memory. They say there is nothing left in this world worth fighting for, nothing left in this world worth dying for... This is a lie. There is so much to fight for, so much to die for. There is one true enemy in this world. Do I need to say it? Do I need to stain the air with it’s name? Or to soil the page? A father he sees his children cry out, And blind they flock, dead to the world. He sees his women, wailing and weeping. The mothers of all tragedy And I your brother, a broken man, I curse the day I was born. I curse the day I ask, what price the martyred man? Whose hand is turned by the grinding wheels of history? I ask a simple question. Who shall stand and who shall fall? Whose deeds shall become song, And whose words shall become law?

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 24, 2025

Do the months change? Do the years pass? It's felt like the same day For the whole of my life. I've had one of those dream again Where all I can see Is a grey horizon No sun breaking the monotony A dream devoid of colour, Devoid of sound Where I am Only greeted by blanks faces Drones Grinding the gears Of the grey machine

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 24, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

You are a sickly child Without the strength To meet the weight of this world Where did we go wrong? How did we go wrong? What shall the solution be? it is not for me to say how The sick shall meet Their end yet they shalland they shall...and they shall let me take The air from your lungs That vapid poisonlet me be the finger on the trigger Sick, sick childwhose ills no mothers love could ease Let me be your sanctuary I am your refuge, Look into my eyes, my child and realise You are looking dowm the barrel of a gun

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 24, 2025

I feel like I've been going Nowhere in my life for years All these empty promises Empty threats. It was such a dark static moment when we met. Nothing felt right, maybe thats why I went so far, too far, Beyond sorrow, pain or lust. The empty silences in our forced conversation Trying to be what I cannot be I never felt so alone in my entire life So alone and desperate to be somewhere else What in this world can change me? What in this world can rouse me Form my sleep My eyes may be open but I see nothing My mouth may be open but it is not words I am forming Not in any language You can undestand I hear what you are saying But it makes no sense to me, it never did How did I come to this? When did I start, dead to the world The word is black and white in my soundless dreams There is nothing I can do so carve me up one last time And leave me for the dogs I have no pity for these grey lines No remorse and no pity That carve me up and sell my soul What is worth? is it worth your love or your compassion? I think you know the answer Every time I dream I seem to leave it all standing at some deserted train station Waiting, watching With and old timetable in my hand Willing another cold morning In another city Or another sunset surrounded by strangers waiting, watching I need somewhere to rest my head

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 24, 2025

E dunque a Dio che giova qust’onda cupa e grande d’insulti che ogni giorno al suo trono s’avventa? Cullato dalle nostre bestemmie, s’addormenta, come un tiranno pago di carni e bevande. I singhiozzi del martire, del dannato che va al supplizio son certo salmi cari all’udito, se a saziare non bastando il celeste appetito, per quanto sangue costi la loro voluttà… "Ricordati, Gesù, dell’orto degli ulivi! Mite, in ginocchio oravi, mentre negli alti abissi rideva il Padre al sordo rumor dei chiodi, infissi da ignobili carnefici nelle tue carni vive." Quando a insozzarti il viso di sacrilega bava venne un’ebbra ciurmaglia da caserme e cucine, e ti sentisti premere la corona di spine sul cranio, ove immensa umanità pulsava; Quando il tuo corpo, franto dallo scempio sofferto, gravò d’orrenda soma e ti slogò le braccia, e sudor misto a sangue per la pallida faccia ti scorse, e fosti a tutti, come un bersaglio, offerto, Non ripensasti ai giorni così candidi e belli, in cui venivi a compiere l’antica profezia, sopra una mite asina cavalcando per via, lungo un cammino sparso di fiori e ramoscelli; In cui con cuor fidente e braccio ardito e franco hai nel tempio quei vili mercanti fustigato; in cui fosti il maestro? E non t’è penetrato, più addentro della lancia, il rimorso nel fianco? "Quanto a me uscirò senza voltarmi indietro, da un mondo dove non sa l’atto al sogno seguire"; possa io ferir di spada e di spada perire! San Pietro ha rinnegato Gesù: Lode a San Pietro!

Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 24, 2025