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Dying_Hope's profile

Metal freak 
Full name:
Dying Hope 
Favourite metal genre(s):
Metal in all its magic shapes! 

●A Gathering of Willows●

《~Chapter 1~》

•Part 1: The Gathering•

Step by step further into the dark
within the forest void of stars,
where fog float whispering above roots
in this desolation of our doom.

Bow your head then tears will fall
and sorrow will bleed out of all
the things unsaid and things undone,
though we know an end to come.

In the eerie dark we hold lanterns to shine
a light of gold into directions we align.
Though we can see we will stay blind
to the light instead we dwell in rites that bind.

Through cathedrals of trees that bow
to the fact that given time ends now.
Lost beneath bleeding roots of gloom,
in this gathering of willows we're entombed.

•Part 2: Crumbling Plateau•

Eyes that stare through souls,
tears that's been shed for pride.
Words sunken in sheer anger
twist and turn to the inside.

The space between the words,
the silence beneath the sighs.
Giants on crumbling ground
falling equally.

Near thirty years slipped away
in one cold hour of despair.
A pale sun dawned that day,
eight months nobody cared!

Words like blades cut deep,
shadows and loss fills the room.
As the skies began to weep
a lonely candle drowns too soon.

Sounds echoing inside,
pictures of the last strife
playing a gloomy cabaret
before the inner eye.

Thinking of forgiveness,
pride's taking more but gives less.
There seems no way out of this state,
so we will be eight months too late!

Thirty years were washed away
in this damned hour of despair.
The pale sun wept that day,
now we wished we'd cared!

Words are now echoes in time,
just hollow letters of the dead.
The pain of yours, the pain of mine
has wasted the moments we had.

•Part 3: Shadow Realm•

Wading through the void
with guilt as my companion,
eight months of silence has
sewn my blistered lips.

Within the dark I'm blind,
pictures of strife and tears
run before my inner eye
and hope disappears.

Within a tattered heartbeat I
decide to cower and to die,
to dwell in hate for my deeds
and curse my narrow-minded needs.

Pale sun, take away my sorrow,
lift the clouds upon tomorrow,
or I slip from the edge of the pier
into realms of my own fear.

Where my own words will haunt me,
where your face remains a wreck.
There I'll be waiting for salvation
to tie a rope around my neck.

I hope you hear me
crying in regret,
I know you hear
every word I've said.

Please forgive me,
in deepest shame I dwell.
Please forgive me,
for I know my words too well.

Redemption lies ahead
in forgiving myself,
not knowing how to cope
with the power of this realm.

And still I wonder
under October skies
if you can hear these
pleadings on your tides.

•Part 4: October Skies•

Clear beams of sunlight breaks
through the roofs of leaves,
leaves that carry the footsteps
beneath our tired feets.

Some came to say goodbye,
some came to leave a sigh.
Some never cease to mourn,
equally broken and torn.

October skies burning bright
in the colors of evening light.
The air carries scents of loss,
broken spirits surrounding us.

And in this hour the wind became
a silent choir that spells your name.
Hearts weigh heavy in this place
where autumn leaves are set ablaze.

Some came to face the truth,
some will relive their youth.
Some bow their heads in shame,
some brought back their pain.

A gathering of willows,
a cabaret of fears.
Wet faces pressed in pillows
drowning in their tears.

Sleep well beneath the burning leaves,
for light will guide the way to Heaven.
Sleep well beneath the burning leaves
because you are forgiven.


In the darkest cracks of our psyche
lies a place where nothing grows.
Descendent of the intrinsic fires
who's embers cease to glow.

Enveloped in despair of political
disrepair while we feast on the
scraps from the table of the haves
and have mores.

There's nothing there!

They dine in celebration,
raising their glasses to
the coming war.

The iron fist of the sentinel
smashing our hopes as it comes down,
We abandon lofty hopes with our feet
planted further in the ground.

Who will muster
the strength to rise?
Who will muster
the strength to rise?


As the infantry line the streets
scattered with the malnourished bodies
of our young, the weeping word
"Revolution" aching on our tongues.

Take up arms brothers and sisters,
now is the time to make the streets ours.
As we've tried for years to find freedom
we call it the struggle, they call it crime.

Now is our time!

Our time to die for freedom,
to be inspired by the ghosts of our past.
For red blood to stain black clothes,
he pounding drums of the bombs blast!

We will gnash our teeth
and bathe in our own blood,
and we will die laughing
while we swim in the flood.

Victory may only exist in our minds
and in nature's oaken pantheon.
When the lights finally go out the
songs of our revolution will play on.

The song of our revolution will play on...



The subtle voice whispering
the satin temptation of the wind,
while our civilization lies in ruin
we answer the call of the wilderness.

The ominous skies resembling
blood-soaked battle fields.
In the shelter of the forest,
a reprieve from our ordeal.

The laughter of the stream,
the weeping of the rain.

The Thunder God's hammer
coming down as we return
to the wild again.

The interegnum has ended!

Where will we go in this strange
land we should have called home?
The elusive ghosts of the native ancestral
spirit no longer vacant from its throne.

We must learn to live without comfort,
to be fed we must learn to grow.


It is cold on the outskirts of the fire
and we shiver in confusion,
greedilly huddling for warmth next
to the dancing flames.

Back to back
wallowing in shame!

“As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth,
so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind.
To make a deep physical path we walk again and again,
to make a deep mental path we must think over and over
the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.”

Isa, whose been carved in this stone,
our fear causes stillness.
We are like the glass waters of
an undisturbed pond.

Petrified in our selfishness,
only moving to satiate our own
desires and quench our own thirsts.

Into the void we all fall,
abandoned humanity as
we have abandoned law.

Away from the bullets
and fire, bombs over head.
Its easy to escape state oppression
but not to escape ourselves

To learn to live as one body,
away from this capitalist hell.

Poison runes, Merkstave,
the ink that smears your flesh
branded with this human curse
to only care for ones self.

It takes more than one tree
to create the forests canopy.

How do we learn to live as one body
and yet mantain our individual autonomy?
This war has just begun and the most
deadly weapon is our own hands.

This war has just begun and the most
deadly weapon is our own hands!

When one of us falls in the field
I will become your shield,
when one of us harvests the grain
all of us will eat again.

When ever a child is born,
a warrior she will become.
When one of us ever is slain
all of us will feel his pain.


After the blood has dried on Vigrid
and the hordes are laid to rest,
Sertr has flung the fire of Muspel
but its embers no longer glow.

Arise, Earth again, fair and green.
Modi and Magni, take up your fathers hammer,
meet me in Idavollr where it's always warm.

Come Baldr and Hodr, drink together as Lif
and Lifthrasir have emerged from the great ash tree.
Odin lives on in his wisdom and Thor in his strength,
we raise our horns to the slain.

Remember the Gods again!

Arise, Gods again, fair and true.
Turn your backs to the door that faces north,
meet me in Okolnir where its always warm.

Men will quarel, rivers will run,
flowers will bloom and Nidhogg
will feed on the blood of the dead.