1. |
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Silver streams penetrate a shadowed guise
Obscuring archways of old
Illuminate this path that my feet my tread
Towards a portal to the unknown
Embraced by the ivy of forgotten ages
Do these moonlit gateways loom cold
Unto hollow plains bearing bitter draught
As my hungering dreams do moan
Filched was the light of dawn
As this pallid mist wraps around me
Flash did ethereal rays
As Luna shines down from quilted skies
Through this threshold I have been consumed
To tower amongst oaken halls in blazing madness
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2. |
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Chiseled below the heights of marble skies
Sprawls a grim eden carved of nature’s will
Amongst these velvet forests that whisper of ageless life
In citadels where wind echoes their chime
Absorbed by the majesty mine eyes may conjure
Possessed in ancient breeze and hypnotic drifting of the leaves
Yet I cannot thrive here, in beauteous lands to behold
Damned to kingdoms of filth where my spirit shall bleed
Return to hopeless paradise, intangible like a dream
This place cannot be grasped, nor may it be unseen
Above do opaque lords shift in solemn grace
Their nebulous forms cast veiling shadows
Swallowing oceans of pine in somber silence
Crooked limbs revealing cracks of faceless grey
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3. |
Vacant Corridors of Ice
04:03
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4. |
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Isolated as the dust crawls ever near
Mourning the lush realms now banished
Singed roots weep within black earthen sphere
Smoke into aether has beauty vanished
Wicked haze and scorched ruins expand
Succumb do all, to time’s malicious sand
In the crackling flames does this end
No hope does life have to ascend
Smoldering decay; black, withering vines
In it’s deafening lament, an icon burns
Consumed is the final sentinel, its limbs to ash
A charred horizon extends, across all of eden
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Disenchant Bellingham, Washington
...To the velvet forests, the rolling marble firmament, the shafts of withering light, and the shadowing breath of a bewitching winter eve.
All music by Drajir
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The Blind Hag's Lair
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Dungeon synth king Erang returns with another dazzling LP, this one inspired by childhood “book & record” sets.
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The Shadow of the Past
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The fire pops under the winter sky, the guitar strums making me want to fly.
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