The inability to look forward. Narratives that keep us blind. Afflictions and every doubt. Labyrinths and narrow aisles carved in our own minds. Showing the same iniquities that keep us tied. The spiral drags us inside its endless womb. A voyage to the depths of the unconscious mind. A murmuring prayer into the void. The last words of everlasting sadness.
A sickness within our corrupted soul. A virus that corrodes our own resolve. And in our hearts, any sign of hope blooms. Like a silent garden without the sun. What seems to be the forthcoming wealth eluded us in a wink of an eye. Hope is a crime that we commit as a sort of craft. A venom provided by the healer to stop our cries. And now we see how disgusting the wait is. And how life runs out hastily. And now we see how grotesque hope is. And how the excuses become your own weakness. And now we see how grotesque the wait is. And how hope runs out hastily. And now we see how disgusting truth is. And how its meaning becomes less.
that's really impressive. again and again they come around the corner with catchy melodies. mixed very well. great voice. kick drums Iceland is wonderful Ƒiͥℝnͣwͫสld
La traversée du désert n'aura pas duré quarante jours mais quatre longues années...
Avec Панихида, Батюшка renaît enfin de ses cendres et, bien que désormais seul (ou plus exactement entouré de deux chanteurs), Христофор accomplit un miracle. Il s'inscrit dans la continuité de Литоургиiа avec un black metal orthodoxe qui nous convie ici à une cérémonie dédiée aux morts. Sa vision est englobante : les mélodies, la gravité et le silence font toucher le paradis ; l'agressivité est luciférienne. Jordan Vauvert