07 - The Tempest

Opens with hypnotic tribal drums and bass in the Hijaz Kar scale, heavy distorted guitars introduce avant-garde doom riffs, Verse features haunting clean male vocals with thrash pacing bursts; vocals shifts to epic, gritty deep clean vocals, Pacing alternates between trudging doom and frantic thrash, while funky bass lines snake under arabic-influenced melodic flourishes, The arrangements create an intense, horror-laden atmosphere, shifting textures and rhythms throughout for studio-polished, experimental metal

Inside the stone-clad, vaulted halls, his thoughts are drowned in seas,
A tide of lives that twist and churn, each memory a disease.
A hundred voices weave their threads, a tapestry unbound,
Each life he’s stolen sings its grief, their dirges circling round.

Each life he claimed, some long, some brief, now mingled in his veins,
Their dreams and griefs, their fleeting hopes, their laughter, cries, and pains.
“Am I Khensu, or am I them?” his mind begins to fray,
His thoughts are drowned, a fragile thing, his ideas now their prey.

The voices rise, their tempers sharp, a storm within his mind,  
“You took my life,” a cry erupts, “What right had you to bind?”  
Another wails, “I was a child, a victor full of pride!  
And now I’m naught but fragments lost, consumed like you inside.”  
Even his son’s once-familiar tone is swallowed by the choir,
The love that once defined his path now drowned within the mire.

The kingdom buckles beneath his weight, his reign begins to shake,
For every step, a thousand wills push choices that he makes.
Assassins come, their daggers keen; his death a fleeting pause,
Yet rebirth only deepens cracks, and fractures write the laws.

One fleeting night, amidst the djinn, a figure clad in blue,
Their eyes like distant, mournful stars, a captivating hue.
“Who are you?” he gasps aloud, his voice a fractured stream,
But silence meets his desperate plea; they vanish like a dream.

“Who am I now?” he cries at last, his voice a hollow drum,
“Where do I end? Where do they start? What have I now become?”
No answer, just endless noise, a tempest without cease,
The echoes of his stolen lives ensure he’ll find no peace.
“Am I a god, or just a thief?” he whispers to the void,  
“A soul devourer bound by chains, my essence null, destroyed.”

His mind begins to crack, a broken thing, his kingdom starts to reel,
For Khensu’s strength, eternal, now brought to quivering heel.
Beneath the weight of countless souls, he falters, falls, and cries,
A king immortal drowning in the voices that arise.

2290/7500

Centuries pass like desert winds; their whispers scour his soul, Each gust a tale of fleeting lives that leave him far from whole. A hundred voices claw within, their whispers sharp as knives, The echoes of a hundred souls, the fragments of their lives. Inside the stone-clad, vaulted halls, his thoughts are drowned in seas, A tide of lives that twist and churn, each memory a disease. A hundred voices weave their threads, a tapestry unbound, Each life he’s stolen sings its grief, their dirges circling round. Each life he claimed, some long, some brief, now mingled in his veins, Their dreams and griefs, their fleeting hopes, their laughter, cries, and pains. “Am I Khensu, or am I them?” his mind begins to fray, His thoughts are drowned, a fragile thing, his ideas now their prey. The voices rise, their tempers sharp, a storm within his mind, “You took my life,” a cry erupts, “What right had you to bind?” Another wails, “I was a child, a victor full of pride! And now I’m naught but fragments lost, consumed like you inside.” Even his son’s once-familiar tone is swallowed by the choir, The love that once defined his path now drowned within the mire. The kingdom buckles beneath his weight, his reign begins to shake, For every step, a thousand wills push choices that he makes. Assassins come, their daggers keen; his death a fleeting pause, Yet rebirth only deepens cracks, and fractures write the laws. One fleeting night, amidst the djinn, a figure clad in blue, Their eyes like distant, mournful stars, a captivating hue. “Who are you?” he gasps aloud, his voice a fractured stream, But silence meets his desperate plea; they vanish like a dream. “Who am I now?” he cries at last, his voice a hollow drum, “Where do I end? Where do they start? What have I now become?” No answer, just endless noise, a tempest without cease, The echoes of his stolen lives ensure he’ll find no peace. “Am I a god, or just a thief?” he whispers to the void, “A soul devourer bound by chains, my essence null, destroyed.” His mind begins to crack, a broken thing, his kingdom starts to reel, For Khensu’s strength, eternal, now brought to quivering heel. Beneath the weight of countless souls, he falters, falls, and cries, A king immortal drowning in the voices that arise.

0/500