The Painter’s Palette

I've a thousand ways to ruin all, But I'm walking to poor choices A negative pulse will be searching for me. Immobilised in the cerebral cell I'm observing my steps...in vain... Are you coming to poison my remarks? This grating Offers Protective trees and feeble barriers, But is too distant, The innocence's round dance. My various eyes are melting, 'cause the past is kidding me with the same Consoling mask, (But) I'm coming to The Passage, The exit from this opaque, filthy case..... Come to listen....it's so refined the whisper of my rise (I'm) coming to the passage!

Submitted by Immortal — Nov 16, 2025

It is quite ironic, I can't slow down this run, But this was my object: To feel. Here, Without disturbances, Lives the sound, I want to close this cycle, But is it equilibrium? We are sliding but all appears so immobile. And I'm so different from me: It's so stupid. Please sketch a portrait to define, I will offer you our faces, Incompleteness, Indefinite resistance. Here, Without disturbances, Lives the sound, I want to close this cycle, But is it equilibrium? We are sliding but all appears so immobile.

Submitted by Nargaroth — Nov 16, 2025

Smell this gentle condition... Misanthropy. Is there something to respect? Painting the same landscape again, You can lose What these fluid movements are electing. The unconscious, undesired companion, Wins. It's so easy... Now you can admire This mental abortion, He's not an illegitimate child, He's your monster.... Why are you trying to suffocate? Raise this figure and forget Your unpure facade. This is the way out, This is the way out. Labyrinthine! Let the union occur. Receive the essence with pride: The old theatre is falling asleep. This is the labyrinthine! Smell this gentle condition....Misanthropy. The unconscious, undesired companion, Wins. It's so easy..

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Nov 16, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

A never ending Painting, No subject defined, Not a precise style, Confused traits poor colours. Are you really able to find a message? I, Defeated, Grow dim again, To not graze this lying vision, To not admire the banal. Distantly, Glittering sides try to illude, [elude?] Disturbing, No results...Again.... I rove hearing the noise...of false moves. Skimming transparent figures, Observing a pale And sober, Painting.... I will deface it, Enjoy the cut.

Submitted by NecroLord — Nov 16, 2025

...And in poor seconds, the filthy figures surrounding become obstacles.... Smell of acid thoughts. Intoxicated eyes, Madly, Are you searching for the obscure calm, But the partial blindness doesn't relieve, And viscid words are shoves to the fury My hostile guide. Memories contribute to mental fall, Skin refuses to feel. Hide my mind From the unconscious desire Of wound, deep wound. I drag between a liquid grey and the hole. Intoxicated eyes, Madly, Are you searching for the obscure calm, But the partial blindness doesn't relieve, And viscid words are shoves to the fury My hostile guide. No way, By now, there's no way, And I spit on these ruins. What silliness....Quiet

Submitted by Cyberwaste — Nov 16, 2025

Sweet Irony, hits my tangled troubles, and frees this blade from the stranding line Cynically slides, Through dusty gemstone, To offer a soft respite to my ethereal plagues. Let me cover with silence, The figures around me: A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering. Grow to a physical essence, And heavily walk on this living mosaic Called pain... I can hear the breath of every dowel: My demons are waiting... Conceal this fool architecture From my (singing) conviction. Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads And dethrone the useless days From my infested eyes. Irony, my care.

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Nov 16, 2025

Is it so useless to talk With these still shades? Sometimes it seems that I spy my moves Through the vent of a glass stone. ...But what am I observing? The sandpit I'm digging Doesn't seem deep enough, 'cause the cries of the wounded wave are covering my strains. But I long for this amorphous embrace To reach close connections with my Ego: This is the spiral... Is it so useless to talk with these still shades?

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Nov 16, 2025

It's so improbable to find the light When clouds are rubbing me Words run creating hatred scrawl Streets have nothing more to ask When I relive this pain Chessmen have a unique colour And the clash begins Words run creating hatred scrawl Streets have nothing more to ask I feel all the moves I know all the moves But I can't expect them 'cause I'm the battlefield When I relive this pain Chessmen have a unique colour And the clash begins I feel all the moves I know all the moves But I can't expect them 'cause I'm the battlefield My feeble profile seems to implode My aural prison becomes the perfect hiding place View is overturning To this internal Abyss Where my withered leaves burn And mirrors have nothing left to reflect And the clash begins

Submitted by johnmansley — Feb 12, 2026