"The story, idea, and lyrics are the original work of Lamefroid." Copyright © 2026 Lamefroid. All rights reserved Upon a throne of shadow’d stone, Where moone’s pale beames do make their mone, The emperour, once warre’s fierce flame, Now grieves the bane that clouds his name. His balconie, a silent hold, O’erlooks a garden, drear and cold, Where starres, as eyes of nameless feare, Do watch where mortal hopes forbeare. O sword, thou voice of blood’s soft wail, Thy whispers rise where angels quail. “Feare not,” thou speak’st, “dare pierce the void!” Yet all my soule shall be destroy’d. The ball-room shines with hollow glee, Where nobles praise their lord’s decree. Their gilded songs, a fleeting guile, Cannot the cosmic dole beguile. Yet he, with heart of cinder’d paine, Forbears the revel’s false domaine. His soule, a gulf of dark unknowne, Hears murmurs of the void’s deep tone. O sword, thou voice of blood’s soft wail, Thy whispers rise where angels quail. “Feare not,” thou speak’st, “dare pierce the void!” Yet all my soule shall be destroy’d. The blade, with tongues of starless spell, Doth chant of deeps where horrors dwell. “Arise,” it hums, “thy kin forsake, To feed the gods that time overtake.” Its call, from realms no mind may ken, Doth bind my fate in chains of men. I cannot yield what voids require, Yet bow to powers none aspire. Down spiral’d stair, with death’s behest, He treads to halls where tapers rest. His sword, a reaper’s crimson might, Doth rend each noble’s heart by night. The chandeliers, with gore bedight, Reflect the ruin of his plight. In silence now, he sits forlorne, A monarch on a throne outworne. O sword, thou voice of blood’s soft wail, Thy whispers hush’d where kindred fail. No offering could sate the void, For I, in blood, am now destroy’d. The dawn creeps soft, with golden blaze, Its kiss to end these cursed dayes. In pools of kin, he waits the flame, To cleanse his soule, his wretched name. In whispers deep, where horrors glide, He seeks the light to break the tide. The sun ascends, its mercy nigh, To still the starres’ unyielding eye. O moone, that gilds my silent vale, Thy beames wax dim, thy lustre frail. In blood and flame, I find my peace, By whispers led, by voids releas’d.
