Pilgrimage
The oasis of uncertainty found its centre in the hemp on my throat Hopefully this minute is the last otherwise my life was the biggest fault If I could just start over, the knowledge of impotence is irremovable There comes the time of beholding my fate, with every step of the excutioner my fear increases Where is the permitted limit of sin? The time of my trial is setting in. The swing of the body was imperceptible, pain didn't make me wait long and it's increasing & increasing & increasing...
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
At the time of falling to deed, evident by its ecceeding the limit of subconscious permission, that I feel in my heart. The constant conciousness of one's own impropriety reveals the reason of one's presence ...and the thought can be rejected before its dawn... Who is the one sharpening the edges of the ball rolling my past through the centre of the pain's sensor. With a question I leave the temple of self loving to find myself on the axis of the destined path. ...and the stream flow of consciousness is winding upwards Again I'm going through the pain of birth . All of my past doubts leave through the scar in my heart Maybe in this life I'll get back into myself, behind the cold wall of my blindness. ...and in the nakedness of the mind purity will arise...
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
I'm a guest in your body, in that mirror of innocence, where before the glass is existence and behind the silver, emptiness. Watching myself in a dew drop on your hair glittering in the melancholy shine of the sun god I feel, That we're flowing into pink wine , for which I'm the blood and you the water. And still I know that you'll not flow all the way to my kingdom of neverending silence, where thoughts are just flocks of fancy coloured birds, whose meaning is uncertain as a deaf blind man's description of the world. I'm the guest of the body in your body, for him I'm just the garden of consciouness, for which every fallen thought us as well the appearing one
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
Avarice Excitement Trouble Desire Red Bed Tongue Moan Pulse Sex
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
The soul is a boat on a lake of tears, wanting to wreck on the shore of love. Love is a ceremony of dead flowers, flying in fragrant flocks to the skies.
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
The happiness I was searching for was never hidden, and I was not the one searching but the one hiding.
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Finntroll — Jun 22, 2026