Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Above the Earth. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Above the Earth. Sort by date Show all posts

Thursday, November 18, 2021

The Ocean by Michael Nesmith lyrics

The Ocean

Michael Nesmith

GENRE
Looking out among the heavens
Looking out among the stars
Heavens in the heavens
Stars among the stars
A tiny planet with a garden
A tiny plot among the hillsides
Glowing bright with wondrous flowers
Glowing bright with healthy fruit trees
Still and quiet, lovely silence
Peaceful, growing, kindly, waiting

Muriel and Jason
Looking up into the skies
Saw the mighty planet spirals
And modest planet lives
Looking up one evening, thoughtful
Jason saw the distant rings
The distant rings around the planets
A ring of truth in Saturn’s sky
Circling with remotest armor
Saturn held in free embraces

What arе those rings, he asked hеr, silent
Knowing not to speak aloud
What are those rings that hold a planet
In its permanence and spin?
Where is a ring that holds a planet?
Is it out, or is it in?

There are many colored rings to see
Of time and life and dreams
Rings and rings of sure consistence
Of elegance and noble things

They extended far around him
Encircling his planet
Claiming his attention
Yet, beyond his reach
He could not lift his eyes from
Their remarkable effulgence
Out among his star-filled heavens
Well outside his circle sky

The farther reaches of the finite
Reaching outward to the future
Reaching inward from the past
Rings of ribbons around boxes
Of inclusions first and last

Muriel was in the garden
Among the hyacinth and daisies
She was standing in them, waist deep
Looking backwards to the cabin

Jason walked on the veranda
To look out across the valley
To the sunlit hills beyond it
To the sky that settled easy
On the distant jagged hillsides
Which were mountains when seen closely
Or held up in contrast to the clouds

All the distance was in shimmer
From the shining of the city
And the glimmer of the cabins
That surrounded him, familiar
As the neighbors and the light

Yet this day, there was a difference
A persistent, clear, yet subtle difference
To the light from these reflections
To these flickers in the distance
Something came to mind so vaguely
Something watery in memory
Like an old forgotten play line
Or a half remembered friend

This unremembered gleam
Was settled in the distance
Nestled down among the mountains
It was a glow made by reflection
Of the sun star on the garden
Of the flowers of the garden
And a loved one in the garden
Standing waist deep in the folds

Was this gleam where water hurried
Down the hills of time and laughter
From the gravity of living
From a life of blindness, searching?
Was this where the water settled
In this far off crater formed
By volcanoes when collapsing
Into time’s recursing walls?

If I go there, will this water
Be the birthplace of my being?
Will this formlessness relieve me
Of the quest with no requiting
Of the end without an end?

These were wistful thoughts that tested Jason
In his careful measured thinking
Looking out from in the cabin
To a garden
Rife with bloom

Muriel was in the garden
Among the daffodils and tulips
And she knew what he was thinking
She had known the same faint essence
In her times when she was growing
While the heart that beat around her
Was still tender and naive

She knew what he was thinking
He should unquestionably go there
Most assuredly should go there
To see the shine up close

Johnson came across the valley
Dark and smileful, as was normal
He too knew of Jason’s thinking
In the same thought that she knew

He knew Jason saw the water
Saw the shining from the water
He had seen the gleam’s reflection
Of the sun star on the lake

Jason, looking at the planets
At the rings around the planets
At some specific rings he saw there
Had briefly seen the water shine

He was thinking he should go there
To continue on his search
For the answers to a question
Of his death and of his birth

Where do the flowers come from
So I can stand among them waist deep?
What happens when they die down?
What happens when they sleep?
What do they weigh when dreaming?
What does an idea cost
If the word supposed to say it
Has unknowable extremes
Or no steady state of emanation
No moving state of gain or loss?
Do I dissolve into the midst
Of the distant shining water
In the hills where comfort sits
In a chair made out of questions
And a house made out of bits
Of the flowers I am standing in
Waist deep among the fist
Of the tiny folded blossoms
Waiting, still, for love’s first kiss?

Jason stops here for a moment
Is the jolt too hard to take?
Does the mind recoil from layers
Of the waves upon the lake?

The lake, once reflecting sunlight
And the images of skies
Are they still in this reflection
When the wind is troubled by?

Let us stop here for a moment
And we will talk about the time
We’ll make mention of the meter
And its reference to the shine

And we’ll return to action shortly
After briefly stopping here
To annotate the moment
For the observer has appeared

Here
Now

In Jason’s thought, the lilting rhythm
And the convoluted time
Went unnoticed when unspoken
Went unmeasured with no motion

Because the story stops now
We shall see what we shall see
By moving out a level
From the still, reflecting sea

To a bigger lake
By orders of a magnitude unbound
Flowing to an ocean open
Unrestricted by the ground

If it’s meaning Jason’s after
He will have that soon enough
We are speaking plainly, aren’t we?
We are not confining words
Or their value as ideas
Because it’s useful now to know
Where the ideas come from
Wherefore they come and whence they go

So we stop here for the moment
And consider what we see
As observers, we have changed things
We cannot see what is the sea

To be conscious of the rhythm is enough
We can move on to the next part of the story
Jason’s quest, then Jason’s song

No poet is at work now
No poetry, ere long
We are stepping back a moment
To let the music play the moment
To let the meter change the moment
Charge the meaning of the moment
And let the dance unfurl the song

As Jason stood there on that evening
Looking out into the skies
Seeing light from shining water
He was held for our same moment
While we stopped and thought about things
Only we could understand now
What to him were mysteries

As a reader, we are authors
As a player writes the play
As a teacher teaches teachers
Pretext, criticism, stay the cycle of meaning
We’re supposed to find in here
So our prison and our garden
Is now the ocean in our ear

We are stepping out upon a level
From observer to observed
To the alter of our ego
We are beating out the words
Playing in our head as laughter
And as questions, and as pain
Turning slowly in the sunset
Turning gently in the night breeze
In the black pools of resistance
Stepping back from our perspective
Seeing Jason now reflected
In his curious amazement
At the distant shining planets
Unbroken circles of the rings

We will go upon the journey
As we have upon the others
But a difference will be with us
A new attitude is with us
For we hear the storyteller
Hear the beat of storytelling
Hear the pulsing of ideas
The meter of the concepts
Coming forward from the prison
Growing up inside the garden
Where we are standing waist deep
Seeing Jason think of thinking
Think of flying, think of knowing
All of what he is now thinking

Watching as he finds us
Finding from the stage’s apron
In the orchestra’s fine tuning
In the timing of the passage
A meta power of the word

Jason spoke to Muriel softly
Does that shine define the water?
Yes, she thought among the flowers
Do you think you want to go there?

Jason nodded his agreement
As he nodded his acceptance
And said yes to the requirement
He was certain must be made
If he went to find the source
Of the ocean there above the mountains

Do you want Johnson to go with you?
Would you wish for me to go
For directions, if you need them?
I have been there once before

Jason thought about the options
Considered well his many options
Looked at both of them with gladness
Of appreciation, gladness
And he knew he must stay single
In the solitude of searching
In the looking for the answers
In the waiting for the answers
At the door of least expecting
He would wait alone while knowing
They had offered to come with him
To the glow among the mountains

He remembered his last journey
A journey from the myth
A journey that went nowhere
Across the muddy rivers
Up the frightful stair
To watch the nonsense monster
As it turned into a bear

It was a journey of not going
Of waking up at home
Of finding he had never left
Had never walked the river
The other side remained unknown

Like the prison with no walls
Only seen once he was outside
Only strange and set, perplexing
Among paradox and questions
He was in a formal system
Running up against a limit
Much like the one he suffered
When trapped inside a prison
With no walls, and hapless guards
Who could only see the way things were
When what they were
Was seeable at bedtime
As they counted all the bunk beds
And said it all looks fine

Jason had to travel solo
Muriel and Johnson knew this
But they each had made the offer
In an effort to be helpful
To provide a little comfort
For they knew the journey’s peril
They knew Jason was in danger
Of getting lost and even worse
Although, no worse than lonely travels
Lonely walking in the ruins
Of the mountains and the ocean
Looking for still water
To reflect the light he saw
Shining in the rings above them
Rings around the planet, soaring
Rings around the sun and moonlight
Around the sky and shore

Both bid him farewell darkly
For they knew he might be lost
Might not return or see them
Let his garden rust and tumble
But
No matter

Whatever outcome was in store
Whatever waiting heartbreak
Was on the distant shore
Jason would keep moving
Jason would keep looking
From first to last to always
The most important thing
Was relationship and structure
The composition of the planets
And the ever constant rings

People among people
Stars among the stars
These were guiding Jason
To the lake beyond the mountains
To the ocean of the present
The waiting unknown future
While opening the past times

And thus, his journey started
A walk upon the hillside
With no provisions packing
Looking straight before him
Into the calling water
Reflecting in the sunlight
The sunlight there upon it
In the daylight of the day

In his mind were stirring questions
About distance, space, and time
How the planet kept its circles
Kept its rings around its sphere
Kept its head above the water’s
Shining sun star in reflection
Giving light and love and laughter
To all who would receive it
Perceive it and receive it
Like a gentle spoken word

In humility and wonder
He set upon the hillside
Footsteps after footsteps
Wonder after wonder
Spirit before spirit
Loving after love

Into the dangered wood now
Just beyond the hillside
Between the glassy water
And the hillside where his foot fell
Caressed inside the heather
And the blossoms of the wild trees
That helped to hold his shoulders
As he went into the woods now
Into the darkened woods now
Like the others in the prisons
The prisons of the false worlds
The schools and clubs and business
Of the city by the river

He returned without his thinking
Into the false wind blowing
To a life outside his thinking
To a life outside of knowing
To an objective danger lurking
To inferring from the system
To some other dread existence
Of a mind beyond this one

He would enter in the woods now
And look at all the creatures
The great and little creatures
Some predator, some prey
Terrifying in the nature
Of a prison and its walls

He would look and see the picture
The most awful, wrongful picture
Wherein one consumes the other
Destroys awareness of the other
For a startled, stark survival
In the woods where there was danger
Among creatures large and little

Jason trembled as he entered
From the footfall on the hillside
As the black and gloomy outside
Covered sunlight from the branches
And the shadows of his dreaming
The things that were not right
Or wrong but only must be
Only must, impossible
Only must, without the how-to
Just the be and is and all
Of the terrible dark woods now
Between him and his own nature

Were not the journeys all like this one
With a shadow covered walkway
With a passage fiercely darkened
From the sunlight of the day?

There was something in here, certain
He knew it well by now
He only knew it inside
Knew it not from doing
Or remembering the details

And there it was, the flicker
Of a light out from a window
Of a mansion beyond grasping
Not like anything on earth

Not like the richest merchant
Not like the oldest money
Not like the kings and barons
But a mansion of the trees

A mansion from the ground up
With crystal windows leaded
Like something from a Tudor
And something from the desert
An architecture fountain
With walls of mud and willow
And a roof made out of tiles
And the tiles made out of red clay
And mahogany for doors

This was no show of purchase
No reason for a party
No fixture of successes
No place where ideas fester

This was a place, a homestead
And it was square and level
But not to earth or planet
Or to prison or to garden
Was it square or was it level

It was perfectly assembled
From a spiritual template
From a substance solid, forceful
From reality unbound
Then it changed, there in the forest
It changed like Johnson’s house had
Like the city with its boundaries
A casual perforce
Persuasion of the moment
It changed
It changed again

It did not change completely
This was no waking from a dream
It was a dazzling display of
Something hidden and unseen

There were forces now at work here
Establishing this mansion
So as Jason approached slowly
He saw a curving driveway
For a carriage or a canon
For a story that needs telling
A graceful curving driveway
With revealing rounded rambles
To the portal to the doorway
To the windows with the crystal
Diamond leaded crystal windows next to doorway

Inside the mansion, stillness
Outside, the forest
Steadied in the wind of Jason’s searching
In the longing of his heart
His mind was racing ’round him
Looking for the state
Where he could describe conditions
Of the mansion there before him

All the trees, the forest
And the life, abundant, playing
On the outside of the mansion
To the creature, they were saying
In the walls of this great house
There is a heaven for the keeping
Not a heaven from the ancients
But a heaven from the present

The walls are sides
The doorways are the entrances extreme
The windows and their crystals
Are for clarity and for looking out
Into the stream

The stream that runs along here
One you traveled often by
Over to the Johnsons’ homestead
And into Muriel’s great sky

There is the stream, and there’s a garden
And a place to lay your head
If you are weary and hard traveled
And in need of this day’s bread

Jason had just started
He was not tired in the least
He was curious and alert now
He was waiting for some word now
From the other forest creatures
And his own unfurrowed brow

Trepidatious, slowly, forward
Over threshold old and oaken
Past a door left partly open
To the waiting light around
Through a passageway unbroken

The light was coming from no fixture
From no sun or starry sky
Yet there was light all round about him
In the entrance to the mansion
Like the light that lights a booklet
An intelligent perception
About orderly perfection
About mansions and their time

This house was not a household
Was not real estate for sale
Was instead an unbound body
Where the inside and the outside
Of the curtain shown in pale
Unhurried contrast
To the crystal windows opened
Like eyes that wondered
Focused about questions of the past

The inside and the outside
Of one gigantic room
The same walls stood as both the wales
Of the same gigantic loom
Where wove the endless fabric
In and out
External to itself
And nothing other than itself
To know the room

There was no calling from the distance
There was no table set
This was no mystery of living
This was a state of being
Where his self was looking
For he questions, for the answer
Now before him through the door

The light most slowly coming
Flowing in like drifting rivers
Filling up the rooms with lightness
Flowing out beyond the windows
Rolling down into the still lake

Reflections in the pond
Coming from no constellation
From no hydrogen consuming
From no nuclear explosion
From no sudden rearranging
Of a nature ordered sequence

Ideas providing thought
Like awareness of the truth
Of where he was now standing
Deep within the mansion’s root

Infinite and ever upward
The projection of the light
Of a pure and only spirit
That was living and its life
The life of all the houses
Where the calculations stood
To determine all the square feet
Of all unrestraining good

Of a good that swept him over
From the woodland and the mansion
To the rings around him now
As if he were a planet
Encircled and protected
Protected and provided
With a limitless inside
Where the time and space and structure
Of the outside was not ruling
Where the limits were not ruling
Where the spiritual transcendence
Revealed actual appearing
To the only mansion perfect
To the only order standing
Of the only way to heaven
Of the disappearing mortal
Of the disappearing fear

From the shores to the far sun stars
The great ocean was a sphere

Lifting out for a brief moment
Of the sense of imperfection
Of the balances of combat
Between the evil and the good
Rising up beyond the truce
Between reacting factions
Between the going and the coming
Of not knowing which to choose

A sudden unity of spirit
Continuity sublime
Not a seam among the flowers
Between seed and harvest time
Between right and left, no line

An orderly progression
A sequence of eternal truths
Establishing the roadway
To the uncontested premise
To the laws and to the rules
To the light of sure existence
To the absolute existence
Of the light among the jewels

Jason saw the new horizon
Saw the evidence of God
Not of God who was a person
Not an atheistic God
Not a God of never knowing
But a God of only good

Saw the sphere of true existence
Where the dream of life in limits
Faded out beyond the walls
Where the walls came down in tumbles
And the new horizon dawning
Came to him through joyous tears

In submission to life’s force
To an intelligence supreme
To an enlightened being
To a harmony unseen
By the darkened sense of mortals
In the darkness of the dream

From Copernicus to Galile
In conservation of mechanics
From Newtonian admissions
To the relative revealing
Now, the undefined uncertain
All held in perfect peace

Stood in silence now before him
As he looked out from the stars
To the mansion after mansion
The complete and perfect mansions
Redolent, abundant, wisdom
Patient, life abiding
As the flowers in the garden

The prison was a doorway
The garden was a path
The mansion was a body
The dreamer wakes at last

There, embraced within the ocean
There are no dreamers there
No birth nor death or knowing
No living in the midst
Of particles at war
No debts announce the past
The ever present motion
Of the ocean and the sky
Show the now forever sphere
Of the new serene bright heaven
In its perfect form complete
Awake and clearly seeing
All the spaces and the times
Informing simple metrics
Simple songs with simple rhymes

Leaving Jason now transfigured
Lifting up above the mountains
Lifting up above the skies
Lifting up above the ocean
Into the infinite sublime

Flying without effort
Flying past the wind and water
Flying where no boundary settles
Flying up above the night
Into the joys and wonders
Of an unimagined height

Resting while still flying
Soaring, sailing in the light

Jason was observing
From an unrestricted height

As observing unobserved
We see ourselves within this light
For the writer is the written word
Upon the door of the mansion in the woodlands
In mind and nothing more
Mind without limitation
Of imagination’s lore

As rings of truth encircle mansions
And the mountains of the mansions
In perfect resolution
Of a thing unto a thing
As the boundless state of mansions
Gave Jason’s thought its wing
As the boundaries no more finite
No more caught, while still defined
There were now no changing mansions
There were now no other times

No arrow moved before him
No boundary drew him back
No crossing lines were in the water
As below him moved the years
Of his flight, serene and safe
In the infinity of spheres

Far below him were the houses
And the roads and the waters running
As his thought was lifted higher
And he felt the ocean’s calm embrace
As he heard the ocean’s roar
Coming now from open waters
Falling in an infinite
Falling through a door

It was the roar of many mountains
And the mansions of great rivers
As far as he could see now
There were people among people
Ideas among the skies
Each one flying by itself
While opening each other’s eyes

As the ocean rose above him
Far beyond his solo dreams
There were other beings like him
Other loves with the same dreams
All behaving in accordance
With symphonic schemes
Of the melodies and beauties
Of the infinite unseen

All the debts were now forgiven
All the burden for all times
The past was thought the present
When the present was confined
To the land of many waters
To the land of many minds

All the past no longer causal
All the debts were gone for good
All the debts and all the notions
From the shadows in the woods

Nothing left to be forgiven
Nothing left to be afraid of
No more time to be alone
Only time content with loved ones
Only space and open vistas
Of the ocean far and wide

The central loving stillness
Of the infinite inside
The infinitude of being
Without conflict, loss, or gain
An infinitude of all things
With no suffering or pain

Here was now the ocean
In one unbroken theme
In the union and the substance
Of a fabric with no seam

A quiet, clear reflection
Of itself upon its skies
Limitless conceptions
Far beyond the mortal ties

Into the bright lands, forward
Into the earth and heaven
Among the stars and in them
The completed native state

The normal man was flying godward
Where God naturally was seen
Away from shallow concepts
Away from shallow streams
In the integrity of being
In brilliant self existence
In the answer to the call
From the origin of being
As the master peace of all

The reflections in the ocean
The great water in the distance
The great rings within the water
The final spoken wisdom
Above the desperations
Of all the long, sad partings
The tragic last goodbyes

Ever present, ever being
Shone through Jason’s eyes

And his face was changed to smiling
And from smiling, changed to laughing
Then from laughing, changed to flying
In complete dominion, flying
In and out of all the worlds
Of the light and of the fullness
Of the past he had forgiven
In and out of time, now ending
Into spirit, into life
As a part of a great union
Where body is in soul

Here is soul with no beginning
Here is mind in clear perfection
Now is life that is forever
A soul in love with life

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Thursday, September 9, 2021

The Alchemist by H.P. Lovecraft lyrics

The Alchemist

H.P. Lovecraft

GENRE
High up, crowning the grassy summit of a swelling mound whose sides are wooded near the base with the gnarled trees of the primeval forest, stands the old chateau of my ancestors. For centuries its lofty battlements have frowned down upon the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the proud house whose honoured line is older even than the moss-grown castle walls. These ancient turrets, stainеd by the storms of generations and crumbling undеr the slow yet mighty pressure of time, formed in the ages of feudalism one of the most dreaded and formidable fortresses in all France. From its machicolated parapets and mounted battlements Barons, Counts, and even Kings had been defied, yet never had its spacious halls resounded to the footstep of the invader.

But since those glorious years all is changed. A poverty but little above the level of dire want, together with a pride of name that forbids its alleviation by the pursuits of commercial life, have prevented the scions of our line from maintaining their estates in pristine splendour; and the falling stones of the walls, the overgrown vegetation in the parks, the dry and dusty moat, the ill-paved courtyards, and toppling towers without, as well as the sagging floors, the worm-eaten wainscots, and the faded tapestries within, all tell a gloomy tale of fallen grandeur. As the ages passed, first one, then another of the four great turrets were left to ruin, until at last but a single tower housed the sadly reduced descendants of the once mighty lords of the estate.

It was in one of the vast and gloomy chambers of this remaining tower that I, Antoine, last of the unhappy and accursed Comtes de C——, first saw the light of day, ninety long years ago. Within these walls, and amongst the dark and shadowy forests, the wild ravines and grottoes of the hillside below, were spent the first years of my troubled life. My parents I never knew. My father had been killed at the age of thirty-two, a month before I was born, by the fall of a stone somehow dislodged from one of the deserted parapets of the castle, and my mother having died at my birth, my care and education devolved solely upon one remaining servitor, an old and trusted man of considerable intelligence, whose name I remember as Pierre. I was an only child, and the lack of companionship which this fact entailed upon me was augmented by the strange care exercised by my aged guardian in excluding me from the society of the peasant children whose abodes were scattered here and there upon the plains that surround the base of the hill. At the time, Pierre said that this restriction was imposed upon me because my noble birth placed me above association with such plebeian company. Now I know that its real object was to keep from my ears the idle tales of the dread curse upon our line, that were nightly told and magnified by the simple tenantry as they conversed in hushed accents in the glow of their cottage hearths.

Thus isolated, and thrown upon my own resources, I spent the hours of my childhood in poring over the ancient tomes that filled the shadow-haunted library of the chateau, and in roaming without aim or purpose through the perpetual dusk of the spectral wood that clothes the sides of the hill near its foot. It was perhaps an effect of such surroundings that my mind early acquired a shade of melancholy. Those studies and pursuits which partake of the dark and occult in nature most strongly claimed my attention.

Of my own race I was permitted to learn singularly little, yet what small knowledge of it I was able to gain, seemed to depress me much. Perhaps it was at first only the manifest reluctance of my old preceptor to discuss with me my paternal ancestry that gave rise to the terror which I ever felt at the mention of my great house, yet as I grew out of childhood, I was able to piece together disconnected fragments of discourse, let slip from the unwilling tongue which had begun to falter in approaching senility, that had a sort of relation to a certain circumstance which I had always deemed strange, but which now became dimly terrible. The circumstance to which I allude is the early age at which all the Comtes of my line had met their end. Whilst I had hitherto considered this but a natural attribute of a family of short-lived men, I afterward pondered long upon these premature deaths, and began to connect them with the wanderings of the old man, who often spoke of a curse which for centuries had prevented the lives of the holders of my title from much exceeding the span of thirty-two years. Upon my twenty-first birthday, the aged Pierre gave to me a family document which he said had for many generations been handed down from father to son, and continued by each possessor. Its contents were of the most startling nature, and its perusal confirmed the gravest of my apprehensions. At this time, my belief in the supernatural was firm and deep-seated, else I should have dismissed with scorn the incredible narrative unfolded before my eyes.

The paper carried me back to the days of the thirteenth century, when the old castle in which I sat had been a feared and impregnable fortress. It told of a certain ancient man who had once dwelt on our estates, a person of no small accomplishments, though little above the rank of peasant; by name, Michel, usually designated by the surname of Mauvais, the Evil, on account of his sinister reputation. He had studied beyond the custom of his kind, seeking such things as the Philosopher's Stone, or the Elixir of Eternal Life, and was reputed wise in the terrible secrets of Black Magic and Alchemy. Michel Mauvais had one son, named Charles, a youth as proficient as himself in the hidden arts, and who had therefore been called Le Sorcier, or the Wizard. This pair, shunned by all honest folk, were suspected of the most hideous practices. Old Michel was said to have burnt his wife alive as a sacrifice to the Devil, and the unaccountable disappearances of many small peasant children were laid at the dreaded door of these two. Yet through the dark natures of the father and the son ran one redeeming ray of humanity; the evil old man loved his offspring with fierce intensity, whilst the youth had for his parent a more than filial affection.

One night the castle on the hill was thrown into the wildest confusion by the vanishment of young Godfrey, son to Henri, the Comte. A searching party, headed by the frantic father, invaded the cottage of the sorcerers and there came upon old Michel Mauvais, busy over a huge and violently boiling cauldron. Without certain cause, in the ungoverned madness of fury and despair, the Comte laid hands on the aged wizard, and ere he released his murderous hold his victim was no more. Meanwhile joyful servants were proclaiming aloud the finding of young Godfrey in a distant and unused chamber of the great edifice, telling too late that poor Michel had been killed in vain. As the Comte and his associates turned away from the lowly abode of the alchemists, the form of Charles Le Sorcier appeared through the trees. The excited chatter of the menials standing about told him what had occurred, yet he seemed at first unmoved at his father's fate. Then, slowly advancing to meet the Comte, he pronounced in dull yet terrible accents the curse that ever afterward haunted the house of C——.

"May ne'er a noble of thy murd'rous line
Survive to reach a greater age than thine!"

spake he, when, suddenly leaping backwards into the black wood, he drew from his tunic a phial of colourless liquid which he threw in the face of his father's slayer as he disappeared behind the inky curtain of the night. The Comte died without utterance, and was buried the next day, but little more than two and thirty years from the hour of his birth. No trace of the assassin could be found, though relentless bands of peasants scoured the neighboring woods and the meadow-land around the hill.

Thus time and the want of a reminder dulled the memory of the curse in the minds of the late Comte's family, so that when Godfrey, innocent cause of the whole tragedy and now bearing the title, was killed by an arrow whilst hunting, at the age of thirty-two, there were no thoughts save those of grief at his demise. But when, years afterward, the next young Comte, Robert by name, was found dead in a nearby field from no apparent cause, the peasants told in whispers that their seigneur had but lately passed his thirty-second birthday when surprised by early death. Louis, son to Robert, was found drowned in the moat at the same fateful age, and thus down through the centuries ran the ominous chronicle; Henris, Roberts, Antoines, and Armands snatched from happy and virtuous lives when a little below the age of their unfortunate ancestor at his murder.

That I had left at most but eleven years of further existence was made certain to me by the words which I read. My life, previously held at small value, now became dearer to me each day, as I delved deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the hidden world of black magic. Isolated as I was, modern science had produced no impression upon me, and I laboured as in the Middle Ages, as wrapt as had been old Michel and young Charles themselves in the acquisition of demonological and alchemical learning. Yet read as I might, in no manner could I account for the strange curse upon my line. In unusually rational moments, I would even go so far as to seek a natural explanation, attributing the early deaths of my ancestors to the sinister Charles Le Sorcier and his heirs; yet having found upon careful inquiry that there were no known descendants of the alchemist, I would fall back to my occult studies, and once more endeavour to find a spell that would release my house from its terrible burden. Upon one thing I was absolutely resolved. I should never wed, for since no other branches of my family were in existence, I might thus end the curse with myself.

As I drew near the age of thirty, old Pierre was called to the land beyond. Alone I buried him beneath the stones of the courtyard about which he had loved to wander in life. Thus was I left to ponder on myself as the only human creature within the great fortress, and in my utter solitude my mind began to cease its vain protest against the impending doom, to become almost reconciled to the fate which so many of my ancestors had met. Much of my time was now occupied in the exploration of the ruined and abandoned halls and towers of the old chateau, which in youth fear had caused me to shun, and some of which old Pierre had once told me had not been trodden by human foot for over four centuries. Strange and awsome were many of the objects I encountered. Furniture, covered by the dust of ages and crumbling with the rot of long dampness met my eyes. Cobwebs in a profusion never before seen by me were spun everywhere, and huge bats flapped their bony and uncanny wings on all sides of the otherwise untenanted gloom.

Of my exact age, even down to days and hours, I kept a most careful record, for each movement of the pendulum of the massive clock in the library tolled off so much more of my doomed existence. At length I approached that time which I had so long viewed with apprehension. Since most of my ancestors had been seized some little while before they reached the exact age of the Comte Henri at his end, I was every moment on the watch for the coming of the unknown death. In what strange form the curse should overtake me, I knew not; but I was resolved at least that it should not find me a cowardly or a passive victim. With new vigour I applied myself to my examination of the old chateau and its contents.

It was upon one of the longest of all my excursions of discovery in the deserted portion of the castle, less than a week before that fatal hour which I felt must mark the utmost limit of my stay on earth, beyond which I could have not even the slightest hope of continuing to draw breath, that I came upon the culminating event of my whole life. I had spent the better part of the morning in climbing up and down half ruined staircases in one of the most dilapidated of the ancient turrets. As the afternoon progressed, I sought the lower levels, descending into what appeared to be either a mediaeval place of confinement, or a more recently excavated storehouse for gunpowder. As I slowly traversed the nitre-encrusted passageway at the foot of the last staircase, the paving became very damp, and soon I saw by the light of my flickering torch that a blank, water-stained wall impeded my journey. Turning to retrace my steps, my eye fell upon a small trap-door with a ring, which lay directly beneath my feet. Pausing, I succeeded with difficulty in raising it, whereupon there was revealed a black aperture, exhaling noxious fumes which caused my torch to sputter, and disclosing in the unsteady glare the top of a flight of stone steps. As soon as the torch, which I lowered into the repellent depths, burned freely and steadily, I commenced my descent. The steps were many, and led to a narrow stone-flagged passage which I knew must be far underground. This passage proved of great length, and terminated in a massive oaken door, dripping with the moisture of the place, and stoutly resisting all my attempts to open it. Ceasing after a time my efforts in this direction, I had proceeded back some distance toward the steps, when there suddenly fell to my experience one of the most profound and maddening shocks capable of reception by the human mind. Without warning, I heard the heavy door behind me creak slowly open upon its rusted hinges. My immediate sensations are incapable of analysis. To be confronted in a place as thoroughly deserted as I had deemed the old castle with evidence of the presence of man or spirit, produced in my brain a horror of the most acute description. When at last I turned and faced the seat of the sound, my eyes must have started from their orbits at the sight that they beheld. There in the ancient Gothic doorway stood a human figure. It was that of a man clad in a skull-cap and long mediaeval tunic of dark colour. His long hair and flowing beard were of a terrible and intense black hue, and of incredible profusion. His forehead, high beyond the usual dimensions; his cheeks, deep sunken and heavily lined with wrinkles; and his hands, long, claw-like and gnarled, were of such a deathly, marble-like whiteness as I have never elsewhere seen in man. His figure, lean to the proportions of a skeleton, was strangely bent and almost lost within the voluminous folds of his peculiar garment. But strangest of all were his eyes; twin caves of abysmal blackness; profound in expression of understanding, yet inhuman in degree of wickedness. These were now fixed upon me, piercing my soul with their hatred, and rooting me to the spot whereon I stood. At last the figure spoke in a rumbling voice that chilled me through with its dull hollowness and latent malevolence. The language in which the discourse was clothed was that debased form of Latin in use amongst the more learned men of the Middle Ages, and made familiar to me by my prolonged researches into the works of the old alchemists and demonologists. The apparition spoke of the curse which had hovered over my house, told me of my coming end, dwelt on the wrong perpetrated by my ancestor against old Michel Mauvais, and gloated over the revenge of Charles Le Sorcier. He told me how the young Charles had escaped into the night, returning in after years to kill Godfrey the heir with an arrow just as he approached the age which had been his father's at his assassination; how he had secretly returned to the estate and established himself, unknown, in the even then deserted subterranean chamber whose doorway now framed the hideous narrator; how he had seized Robert, son of Godfrey, in a field, forced poison down his throat and left him to die at the age of thirty-two, thus maintaining the foul provisions of his vengeful curse. At this point I was left to imagine the solution of the greatest mystery of all, how the curse had been fulfilled since that time when Charles Le Sorcier must in the course of nature have died, for the man digressed into an account of the deep alchemical studies of the two wizards, father and son, speaking most particularly of the researches of Charles Le Sorcier concerning the elixir which should grant to him who partook of it eternal life and youth.

His enthusiasm had seemed for the moment to remove from his terrible eyes the hatred that had at first so haunted them, but suddenly the fiendish glare returned, and with a shocking sound like the hissing of a serpent, the stranger raised a glass phial with the evident intent of ending my life as had Charles Le Sorcier, six hundred years before, ended that of my ancestor. Prompted by some preserving instinct of self-defense, I broke through the spell that had hitherto held me immovable, and flung my now dying torch at the creature who menaced my existence. I heard the phial break harmlessly against the stones of the passage as the tunic of the strange man caught fire and lit the horrid scene with a ghastly radiance. The shriek of fright and impotent malice emitted by the would-be assassin proved too much for my already shaken nerves, and I fell prone upon the slimy floor in a total faint.

When at last my senses returned, all was frightfully dark, and my mind remembering what had occurred, shrank from the idea of beholding more; yet curiosity overmastered all. Who, I asked myself, was this man of evil, and how came he within the castle walls? Why should he seek to avenge the death of poor Michel Mauvais, and how had the curse been carried on through all the long centuries since the time of Charles Le Sorcier? The dread of years was lifted off my shoulders, for I knew that he whom I had felled was the source of all my danger from the curse; and now that I was free, I burned with the desire to learn more of the sinister thing which had haunted my line for centuries, and made of my own youth one long-continued nightmare. Determined upon further exploration, I felt in my pockets for flint and steel, and lit the unused torch which I had with me. First of all, the new light revealed the distorted and blackened form of the mysterious stranger. The hideous eyes were now closed. Disliking the sight, I turned away and entered the chamber beyond the Gothic door. Here I found what seemed much like an alchemist's laboratory. In one corner was an immense pile of a shining yellow metal that sparkled gorgeously in the light of the torch. It may have been gold, but I did not pause to examine it, for I was strangely affected by that which I had undergone. At the farther end of the apartment was an opening leading out into one of the many wild ravines of the dark hillside forest. Filled with wonder, yet now realizing how the man had obtained access to the chateau, I proceeded to return. I had intended to pass by the remains of the stranger with averted face, but as I approached the body, I seemed to hear emanating from it a faint sound, as though life were not yet wholly extinct. Aghast, I turned to examine the charred and shrivelled figure on the floor.

Then all at once the horrible eyes, blacker even than the seared face in which they were set, opened wide with an expression which I was unable to interpret. The cracked lips tried to frame words which I could not well understand. Once I caught the name of Charles Le Sorcier, and again I fancied that the words "years" and "curse" issued from the twisted mouth. Still I was at a loss to gather the purport of his disconnected speech. At my evident ignorance of his meaning, the pitchy eyes once more flashed malevolently at me, until, helpless as I saw my opponent to be, I trembled as I watched him.

Suddenly the wretch, animated with his last burst of strength, raised his hideous head from the damp and sunken pavement. Then, as I remained, paralyzed with fear, he found his voice and in his dying breath screamed forth those words which have ever afterward haunted my days and my nights. "Fool," he shrieked, "can you not guess my secret? Have you no brain whereby you may recognize the will which has through six long centuries fulfilled the dreadful curse upon your house? Have I not told you of the great elixir of eternal life? Know you not how the secret of Alchemy was solved? I tell you, it is I! I! I! that have lived for six hundred years to maintain my revenge, FOR I AM CHARLES LE SORCIER!"

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Wednesday, October 20, 2021

All Our Dreams by Above the Earth lyrics

All Our Dreams

Above the Earth

GENRE
[Verse 1]
I’m walking on this empty street
But in my mind’s full of memories
Feel like flying...
I tried to catch them
They make me smile
Just to have them
If I feel lonely...
If you are not around

[Chorus]
All the things we used to go through
Make us better than before
All the lessons we have learned
All our dreams
(All our dreams)
All the things we went through
(Things we went through)
All our dreams

[Verse 2]
I'm your leader, just follow me
Take my hand and I’ll make you see
Hidden places...
On this street of memories
I will show you how the past can help us
To find ourselves in the future

[Chorus]
All the things we used to go through
Make us better than before
All the lessons we have learned
All our dreams
(All our dreams)
All the things we went through
(Things we went through)
All our dreams

[Guitar Solo: Adam “Nolly” Getgood]

[Bridge]
All the things we used to go through
Make us better than before
All the lessons we have learned
All our dreams
All the things we went through
All our dreams...

[Chorus]
All the things we used to go through
Make us better than before
All the lessons we have learned
All our dreams
(All our dreams)
All the things we went through
(Things we went through)
All our dreams

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Sunday, April 18, 2021

Lyric: The Christwhore by Megiddo

The Christwhore

Megiddo

GENRE
Centuries...i have waited...for this moment in time
Now...shall be revealed...the true enigma that is your god

I sodomize your christwhore as a prelude to destruction
Degrade your feeble jesus for the cunt that she is
Black cum drips from the mouth of your messiah
And poisons the earth to which it spills
Watch your feeble god made to cry out in anguish
As the legions of the damned invade every opening they find
This slut of an amoeba that you''ve praised for two millеnnia
Revealed for thе twat that she truly is
On bended knees you pray, such a fitting position
It mimics your god as she swallows just to breath
Listen to her moans as her ass is penetrated
And the blood poisons the earth to which it spills
The heavens, they are weeping at this misfortune befallen
Angels gouge out their own eyes so as to not witness the feast
All the while the cuntchrist becomes more heated every moment
Pleasuring the sinners condemned by her own teachings
The lust of your christwhore can not be satiated
The epitome of whoredom which the world has never seen
This god that you have worshipped now reduced to her essence
A filthy fucking whore that masquerades as the pristine
Oh what splendid joy to see the heavens crumble around us
Undone by the actions of the very one they praise
Every drop of semen that this god of theirs devours
(is) another brick that falls from the palace of the meek
The earth it fares no better than the heavens up above it
Blood and piss and cum saturate the ground beneath
For this bitch that is the christwhore cares no longer for her offspring
Given over fully to the pleasures of the flesh
Christ cunt whore

The filthy fucking christwhore of heaven

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Without Me by KIDZ BOP Kids lyrics

Without Me ...