The wind whistles the Autumn song. Down the mountain stones of October sobbing slide in low acceleration. At times, the Earth pulse becomes vivid, expressed through disaster verdant melodies and twisted guitar scratchings. The place is melancholic, yet peaceful. Stones gleam in ranks. The mood turns anxious. We all are heir apparents of the season’s change. This change of seasons is final. In this scenery - bizarre flowers, a violent mist and impetuous beauty win our interest. Still hearing the song of October. We’re in love with this moment. Awake and live this, too. Don’t you dare fall asleep for sleep is a curse. Tread down the greyest of grounds, sense the soaring dust, move towards the vast sky. And the Sun! Riseth He, the numberless, in awe and admiration. The stones still slide, falling into the fervent sea, blown off by its monstrously low tide. We are martyrs of this suffering. Those are divine powers that recompence the planet.Maudlin of the Well compose the soundtrack of this recompense. A battle of angels and demons. Empty soundscapes, unending, draw swords in the ethers. Folk props dress the torturing doom metal musical background. The orphaned tunes of a wretched violin color the hypothetic shattering. All in warm embrace, stripped of fear now. The band’s headed in healing trips, leaving our body map. Their highminded brain created some alternative versions of glorious music.
Miltos XIC
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