then why do they trust the care of their home and hearts, silence
its all political,
if my music was literal,
and i'm a criminal...
On the Stage
A late afternoon, and the sun is sinking in a bloodbath, staining the sky with crimson smears that drench everything with ruby highlights, strange how the color or blood is also the color of love, as if deep inside we recognise the connection between violence and passion, though we outwardly deny it. And below the sky of fire, a warrior stands, motionless, and for a moment, there's nothing but the mournful howl of the wind that's singing a dirge to the fallen, and there are indeed fallen, they lie scattered like a pile of leaves the wind rakes through, disjointed and broken on the face of the innocent earth. And the warrior stands, in the middle, and the only sign of life is a ragged breath that is drawn with a shudder, for he is not the cruely twisted murderer, the sadistic bastard that rakes in lives like other men rake in money and other pleasentries, nay. What you see is a warrior whos skill with the blade is renowed, sung across the land like the spiralling call of the birds greeting the dawn, a warrior whos heart is still alive and beating, though he shows it not, and with a cold gaze he surveys the work of his hand, and the work of his enemies hand, dead friends and foes alike in their last resting places here on a ground no longer virgin, soaked in the blood of mortal men. And he's the only one left, this captain, this commander who orders those young and old, weak and strong, proud and humble, who controls the guardianship of a world, against others just like him, who would be friends, but for the fact they served a differernt crown. You'd never know, as without a moments more hesitation the master walks away, wiping clean the bloodied sword yet leaving the blood stains that stain his face, that inside, behind the wall of ice, inside the man who can never be moved to disobey his duty, who would sacrifice his life for those that stand in his protection, is a heart that mourns for all the lives, and there are many, that his sword, knives, hands, and very words have taken....
There's nothing arrogant about the shape shifting across the roof of hell like the very embodied form of time itself, silent, subtle, slipping across the world like the seconds slip through our fingers, ever present, hardly noted, yet we depend on them like the sleeping forms of the aquarians relied on him. Their nightmares, held in check by the never resting vigilance of the one that the crowned ones called bodyguard, the one they called royal guard. There's nothing cocky about his demenour, just as there is no hint of his burdens, the sculpted skull is aloft, crowned by the hanging stars, and softly the sea sings as if welcoming him as he tracks across the shoreline, disturbing the grains gilded silver by a light that also leaves the bastard glimmering, the luna a spotlight that flares like magnesium the bleached cloakage of the warlock. The zombie is not old, though youth is not his either, six cycles are enough to let the drake reach his peak, yet temper the soul into what the leviathans now knew. Now, its time for the truth to be revealed, and the empty gaze that is like a one way mirror, reflecting all and revealing nothing, is sent spinning outwards and upwards, without fuss nor hesitation, it lies itself across the place where for many hours the dark one had been watching, without revealing himself, and if the captain of liquid was not so attuned to his world and his element, he would have missed him, but he had not. Still, time was a valuble thing if one knows how to respect it, and the alabaster one had left the other in peace as the days rolled in and out like the waves against the shore, and now it seemed the time had come to welcome the other. But there is no leaping forrward of the quicksilver carcass, rather it pulls up, stationary now the co-ordiantes you could find the bronc by, and there is no rush of sweetened words to this stranger who stepped forward into the oceans heart. Rather, the drake knows that on the empty shoreline, in the vacancy of the world in this hour, that should the other wish it, he could easily find the way towards waters defender.
Recorded in: Leviathan Sea
By the: Royal Guard
Stage Crew: Chained Angel, Regicide, The Shining
Back-up Vocals: Nemesis, gld Karida
In dedication to: the only bytch to provide the drugs my soul desires, Hells Steal
Featuring: Mirage, Flood
Cast the record in: Bronze
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then why do they trust the care of their home and hearts,