The Sown Harvest (Ismenios)

Progressive Hellenic folk metal; unhurried 78 BPM heavy pocket, spacious dynamic headroom and transparent modern mix with a synchronized hard stop; weathered clean baritone, dry close-mic chest voice, conversational cadence and deep antiphonal refrains; fingerpicked Greek bouzouki, woody upright bass, soft daouli pulses, featured Cretan lyra in modal counterpoint, spaced 7-string melodic chords, light cymbals and a solitary bronze bell

Beneath the crags where cold Ismenos weeps, A golden-crested warden never sleeps. The blood of Ares coiled within the stone, A lethal terror guarding flesh and bone. Heed the spring where shadows lie, None who seek the water fly. Bow to the spring where the dead waters rise! The harvest of iron awakes in his eyes! Born of the war god, sleepless and cold, The dragon of Thebes strikes down the bold! Prince Cadmus steps into the crimson glade, His javelin turned against the monster's blade. He pins the thrashing terror to the oak, And drives the iron through the killing stroke. Heed the spring where shadows lie, None who seek the water fly. On high command he furrows in the loam, The dragon's teeth beneath the quiet foam. From earthen furrows crested spears awake, The armored Spartoi rising for his sake. Heed the spring where shadows lie, None who seek the water fly. The founder ages under grief and pyre, Remembering the serpent's sacred fire. Upon his skin the azure scales descend, A peaceful dragon where the sorrows end. Bow to the spring where the dead waters rise! The harvest of iron awakes in his eyes! Born of the war god, sleepless and cold, The dragon of Thebes strikes down the bold! Rooted in stone. The spring flows forever.

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