1. |
All That Begins...
04:05
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The yawning of vast black chasms between the stars, birthed from the void.
The hubris of mortality shall form the gods in their own belief.
To appease them will they build up monuments to fractured genius.
They shall compete, and strive yet still, to glorify themselves in their ideal.
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2. |
Whom Gods Abandon
10:43
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|
Dawn of red days, pageantry of oblation.
Tumultuous hordes in pious exaltation.
Dissonant horns call to claim flesh,
slaked fields wetted, drinking deep of russet tone
Joined conflict of wounds, no lust for final blows.
Pleading of the felled pressed into bondage.
Sun sets on contest divine, armies withdraw home.
Trophy’d legions drive the broken over drought-struck soil.
In starving cities the desperate gather
to seek familial blood and despair at absence.
Streets thronged with wretched, malnourished shadows reaching out
to clutch at the procession of the hobbled on their long march.
The people, thin of flesh, sunken-eyed and desiccated.
The stoic fanatical mass of faithful dying, empty of substance,
followed the bound and those few able
shed pleading tears to gods for mercy.
When would they hear, when would they see,
when would they love those who believed.
The crowd halted below the grand proffering,
atop the apex of caked and stained steps.
The priests awaited above, arms outstretched to the skies
in wild-eyed trance and song at the chancel basin and altar.
Begging, pleading, the procession cries out as a monolith of hands begin to guide
upwards where censers burn acrid incense in finality.
The first upon stone, made supplicant in expiratory sublimation.
As the ascetic utter implorations to gods long bereft of provision.
The liturgy commenced, the knife taken, the work is quick and brutal.
The crowd erupts in jubilant praise as blood spills into the basin.
The second brought forth, then the third, dawn to dusk, for days and days.
The procession wrought unto the gods in canals filled red and torn flesh displayed.
A month's time, no rain has fallen
so the legion moves again to war.
If the gods, still unmoved, grant no favor
then the gods must still demand more.
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3. |
...Though Immutable...
04:08
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|
For as these works, so built, should last
from such vain hands of proud, frail, minds.
If our reach must exceed our grasp
then so must we plummet beneath the soil.
Nothing shall endure.
Nothing is eternal.
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4. |
Of Sorrows Borne
13:31
|
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|
On frenzied winds they came, their dogged steps followed in shadow.
Grim revenants fueled by blood and tales of woe and injustice
The earth itself did tremble, for those who claimed that mantle
were hollowed pursuers and dead to it, stark hands that claw after the unforgiven.
With bare untempered rage they spoke for the voiceless
bitter words of fury and spite, the coldest actions of cruelty.
Terrible reprisal that cannot be blunted, a past that must be answered,
of pain carried so deep within that drives the blade unturned.
Swallowed curses fed their husks, their lives forsaken and given over to grief.
Horrid instruments of howling loss who bear judgement for those named in atrocity.
Their ranks were made from those who claimed debts of life, repaid in blood of guilt.
They knew not peace yet were marked by deed in resolution, bereft of purpose.
Cry out what you cannot bear in sadness to the winds.
Your ache, the wrongs so suffered, let fall your tears
it is said, and they shall hear, for they are drawn to such plight.
Shadows, devoid of all things, save vast empathy.
They come to hear the wailing, to feel it once again.
They listen and feel each loss as their own, and speak each name.
Weep and they shall weep with you, mourn and they will mourn with you.
Grieve and they will grieve with you, lament and they shall be moved
in your stead with purpose again, a void once empty now full with agony,
of sorrows borne and vengeance carried, for those sent below one more must follow.
|
||||
5. |
...Shall Also End
04:10
|
|||
|
Unwinding days as time will end,
cities reclaimed by dust and wind.
For one by one will the stars die,
to leave dead worlds among the void.
Extinguished gods, mortal dreams fade,
to never pass, or be replaced.
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6. |
||||
|
Dawn of red days, pageantry of oblation.
Tumultuous hordes in pious exaltation.
Dissonant horns call to claim flesh,
slaked fields wetted, drinking deep of russet tone
Joined conflict of wounds, no lust for final blows.
Pleading of the felled pressed into bondage.
Sun sets on contest divine, armies withdraw home.
Trophy’d legions drive the broken over drought-struck soil.
In starving cities the desperate gather
to seek familial blood and despair at absence.
Streets thronged with wretched, malnourished shadows reaching out
to clutch at the procession of the hobbled on their long march.
The people, thin of flesh, sunken-eyed and desiccated.
The stoic fanatical mass of faithful dying, empty of substance,
followed the bound and those few able
shed pleading tears to gods for mercy.
When would they hear, when would they see,
when would they love those who believed.
The crowd halted below the grand proffering,
atop the apex of caked and stained steps.
The priests awaited above, arms outstretched to the skies
in wild-eyed trance and song at the chancel basin and altar.
Begging, pleading, the procession cries out as a monolith of hands begin to guide
upwards where censers burn acrid incense in finality.
The first upon stone, made supplicant in expiratory sublimation.
As the ascetic utter implorations to gods long bereft of provision.
The liturgy commenced, the knife taken, the work is quick and brutal.
The crowd erupts in jubilant praise as blood spills into the basin.
The second brought forth, then the third, dawn to dusk, for days and days.
The procession wrought unto the gods in canals filled red and torn flesh displayed.
A month's time, no rain has fallen
so the legion moves again to war.
If the gods, still unmoved, grant no favor
then the gods must still demand more.
|
||||
7. |
||||
|
On frenzied winds they came, their dogged steps followed in shadow.
Grim revenants fueled by blood and tales of woe and injustice
The earth itself did tremble, for those who claimed that mantle
were hollowed pursuers and dead to it, stark hands that claw after the unforgiven.
With bare untempered rage they spoke for the voiceless
bitter words of fury and spite, the coldest actions of cruelty.
Terrible reprisal that cannot be blunted, a past that must be answered,
of pain carried so deep within that drives the blade unturned.
Swallowed curses fed their husks, their lives forsaken and given over to grief.
Horrid instruments of howling loss who bear judgement for those named in atrocity.
Their ranks were made from those who claimed debts of life, repaid in blood of guilt.
They knew not peace yet were marked by deed in resolution, bereft of purpose.
Cry out what you cannot bear in sadness to the winds.
Your ache, the wrongs so suffered, let fall your tears
it is said, and they shall hear, for they are drawn to such plight.
Shadows, devoid of all things, save vast empathy.
They come to hear the wailing, to feel it once again.
They listen and feel each loss as their own, and speak each name.
Weep and they shall weep with you, mourn and they will mourn with you.
Grieve and they will grieve with you, lament and they shall be moved
in your stead with purpose again, a void once empty now full with agony,
of sorrows borne and vengeance carried, for those sent below one more must follow.
|
||||
Secundus Portland, Oregon
Secundus is:
Alexis Fields
Hansel Larson
Mark Ellsworth
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