NuM

THE PROJECT

It was a time of condemned souls... of whore-tongued false prophets, new clay idols... forged chains at the expense of blood and scrawny bones... self-taught masochism. It came the sunset and the whips left long red shadows in misdirected souls... they left the death written along large pentagrams…

The battle begins... condemnation is a sacred teaching... gloomy sounds build heavy machinery... war machines wheel over the verses of never dreamed melodies...

At my right hand sings the death and at my left a silent desolation speaks... grave of arcane beauty nests in my heart... wake up, the niches are too small, macabre dances move by wicked beats, the third rebellion comes...

The era comes, of the ones who climb from the wells of decadence... death is their life and impossible symphonies their banner... the screams of the souls intermingle creating a chaos of ordered beauty.

They sing forbidden hymns, where death is life and life is nothing...

The battle begins.

THE MUSIC



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