Sulphur English

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

Placid is the toll of the iron bell As its resonance washes against the hills And settles into the dry beds and knotted groves Of the sun-parched valley at rest below. The morning rises guardedly Over a stirring countryside, Illuminating the far off sea. A waxen shield, horizon’s protector. As I stagger up from the sun-bleached tiles, Where in night’s revelry I laid my head, I lean against a rusting lattice and compose my thoughts, My waking eyes held spellbound by a waxen sea. I raise my hands to the sea beyond, Intoxicated by the winds that whip up from her fair shores. I’ll mind any road, be they tranquil or pestilent, Through knotted, olden grove or stone-strewn ruin, To wander her fair shores, To be adrift in the azure, To covet the sea breeze, To daydream upon her dunes. All in due time Placid is the toll of the iron bell As its resonance washes against the hills.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 25, 2025

At dusk We’ll coax the old brook to sing A hymn To quell the will of the night. Restless, We’ll sway to its primeval song, Enchanted By the fires burning within. Restless At dawn We’ll sing the old brook to sleep. A hymn To quiet the roar of the day. In stillness, We’ll lay on its primeval banks, Weary From the fires burning within. Stillness

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 25, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

As the sun bids farewell To this dusty wash, Its last thin rays Kindle tiny stars That dance In no particular time— Specks of stray glass That collect the last hints Of the fleeting light. As darkness grips This wayward land, Scant flickers of transient light Frolic in the distance — A sure sign of some dreary town. So I wander through the night ‘Til I reach its shadowy edge, Where gravestones lay between Shuttered homes and rusting hulks, Where I see her figure, Faceless in the gloom, And she says: “Turn away! These people are held by a cursed star. There’s blood on the lupines and a fever in this town.”

Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025

Beware the charlatan Slinking amongst The pallid colonnades. Beware his garb Of threads woven In gilded opulence. Beware his forked tongue: Its diction foul and impenitent, Delivered on the winds of sulphur’s breath; Its noxious arguments Crudely spun into a mesh of bedlam and fallacy. The charlatan sets his eyes towards the throne, Tongue adrip in revolting ecstasy. And the lackeys gnash their pearly teeth, Pining for his next decree, Erect and euphoric with unquenched delusion, Thirsting for a power absolute. Their intentions reek of an impure faith Born from the promise of a glutton’s lust. Their minds too dull and weak-willed to break, Servants to the charlatan’s every desire. Sever the corrupt tongue Of the imperious fool. Silence the gangrenous root Of his abhorrent voice. Beware the charlatan Slinking amongst The pallid colonnades. Sever the corrupt tongue Of the imperious fool. Silence the gangrenous root Of his abhorrent voice.

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 25, 2025