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We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Dreamscapes of Illusion

by Arkhaeon

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1.
Show us the taste, of our demises‘ pace. Winds carrying your stories of decay. A funeral rite, thoughts of dismay. Accompanying the downfall of men. From the mountains high, can you hear my scream? Silence surrounding the strongholds of stone. Long standing secrets sold to no soul. Looking down on the world with distaste. Our cries echo forever, and ever again. While civilizations collide, and all prophecies coincide. A feeling so profound. Tears running from our eyes without a sound, dried before they can hit the valley ground. Everybody knows that the mountains belong to us! Everybody knows that the world belongs to us! This place, impenetrable maze. Descend his stairs Altering skylines, lost in different timelines. Symmetric structures of steel, appearing unreal. Thoughts restrained, refrained from envisioning the true divine name. Home to thousand voids, not hearing a voice and without a real choice. An unsettling landscape, cold and old, leaving all stories untold. A moloch on a strife, consuming its rotting hive, to survive another life. Killing lust and by betraying trust, the thrust tearing away our worlds crust. Death has forsaken this world, taking miracles away, awakening endless aches. Replaced by a fear of the absent spear, dragging eternity into the sphere, right here. Spiritual absence enforced by coarse systems lords, all sorts of lying bastard cohorts. The breaking of the old heros faked, for only one sake, to take the power of the snake. Histories‘ great thieves enthroned beneath all human beliefs, to achieve absolutely no relief. Triumphing hordes of power, hoarding the unique holy codes to the only ports, opening other worlds. Leaving the world blind, entwined, not fine, with a lonely shrine filled with a foul, bitter wine. Time bound - Nothingness. Illusions of dreamscapes. Time sounds - Nothing less. Dreamscapes of illusion. Revitalising thoughts of something old. A before the after, prior to the cold. Materialised alone, what once was shown. What will be done, and again turn to stone. Time bound - Nothingness. Illusions of dreamscapes. Time sounds - Nothing less. Dreamscapes of illusion. The men we are, we will remain. Can’t feel your worldly chains. The son of the father, slain, penance will forever, be in vain. His wrath will be your bitter end. We have chosen this by our own hand. This path, we always walk in pain, will be remembered as our shameful stain. No weight can drown our spirits now, no higher hope they can bestow. All scope smashed on his crown. Can’t make us more than frown. Empty dreamspaces we finally came to trust. Bringing us to junctions, requiring to be crossed. His Golden wings‘ swing finally breaking the crust. Replenishing us with hate and deepest hidden lust. When does life start and where does it end? Dreams predicting scrapes, procreating faiths. Do we dream to hate, question a current state. Or simply rely on fate, on what he did, for us create. His circle won‘t ever be full, whatever you may try to see. There will always be misery, whenever you truly want to be free. Hope has forever left, while our souls become devoid. After centuries of theft, paths leading to the empty void. ... Trying to remember, facing sacred lore. All this time, what are we looking for? Roaming through this life, finding our way. Reaching for him, through thick fog astray. So long ago, one direction, when hearts were stark. Towards his reflection, following the spark. Fists striking hard, against cold stone. Endlessly reverbing shards, destroying home. Futile spirits roaming ‘round. Searching for his guiding sound. All souls hurting full of ache. Swollen, ready to finally break. Drowning in their prior given fate, from a purpose stolen. Empty nothingness yet full of cold emotion. A hungry soul’s trait, seeking for his true devotion. Despair and solitude, hate the lack of hope. Thousand pillars reflecting a thousand ropes. Burning hearts appearing in our youths‘ crates. Significance bursting apart with a cruel fate. See oppressors smashed, symbolism turned to ash. Crush the hidden stash. Backfire, backlash. Conditioned with their lash, let the system sink to mash. Burn the worship of cash. Flesh to dirt, in a flash. Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Minds and cities trashed, Throats of traitors slashed. Monuments exist to be smashed. Cities raped, crumbled and crashed. Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Liars‘ songs abashed, bones to dust gnashed. Shores and lands awashed. Faces bashed and existences hashed. Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash! Turn all to ash. All to ash! Monuments smashed. To ash!

about

Recorded without prior songwriting. Mix & Mastering: Chäuer Studios

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released May 11, 2022

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all rights reserved

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Arkhaeon Switzerland

Arkhaeon transcends the darkness inside to gain a clear sight for the ultimate path. Monotonous and sacral music with a vision for more.
S.D.G.I.M.

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