Is He willing, yet unable?  
Shadows rise where light should dwell.  

If He can stop the scourge of night,  
Yet falters in His might,  
Then power lost, His crown undone,  
A godless throne, a hollow sun.  

Is He able, yet cruel of heart?  
Then malice reigns where souls depart.  
If both He is, then whence the pain?  
Why tears and blood upon the plain?  

If neither strong nor willing stand,  
Why bear the name of God’s command?  
A hollow voice, a prayerless sky,  
We curse the stars that know not why.  

Evil walks where angels sleep,  
And silence falls, and shadows creep.  
Power and will, or none at all,  
We watch the world in nightfall’s thrall.  

Is He able, yet cruel of heart?  
Then malice reigns where souls depart.  
If both He is, then whence the pain?  
Why tears and blood upon the plain?  

Is He willing, yet unable?  
Is He able, yet malevolent?  
Is He both, then whence this strife?  
Is He none, then why call Him life?

Epicurus

If gods were real, I’d curse their name,  
For weaving death, for crafting pain.  

They painted life with cruel design,  
And split the hearts they should entwine.  
From tender bloom to rotting dust,  
All flesh obeys their silent lust.  

Oh, gods of hollow, gods of lies,  
I spit at heaven, sever the ties.  
Death’s cold hand, your gift, your blight,  
I walk in shadows, shun your light.  

Each fleeting friend, each whispered breath,  
Falls to the chains you forge in death.  
Your temples rise, your statues gleam,  
Yet life decays within your scheme.  

No psalm shall praise, no candle burn,  
For I will turn your gifts to urn.  
The void is kinder than your throne,  
I walk alone — forever alone.  

Oh, gods of hollow, gods of lies,  
I spit at heaven, sever the ties.  
Death’s cold hand, your gift, your blight,  
I walk in shadows, shun your light.  

If I believed, my hands would tear,  
The world you built, the cursed air.  
Your stars, your skies, your sacred breath,  
Would rot beneath my scornful death.  

If gods were real, I’d curse their name,  
For weaving death, for crafting pain.  
I walk unblessed, I walk unmade,  
Beyond your reach, beyond your shade.

If gods were real, I’d curse their name

I found a folded note beneath the willow tree,
Your handwriting trembling like a memory.
The river carried pieces of the words you meant,
Down currents never spent.

A quiet world of silver where the water flows,
Reflecting all the questions that I’ll never know.
Your voice is just a ripple in the evening air,
Too soft to still repair.

And in the fading light,
I reach but lose the sight.
Your echo drifts away—
Yet something makes me stay…

If the water ever calls your name,
Would it whisper mine the same?
I’ve been trying not to fall apart,
But the tide keeps pulling at my heart.

A lantern on the shoreline flickers in the rain,
A fragile little beacon for a forgotten pain.
I speak a truth that’s drowning faster than the night—
But still I hold it tight.

And in the fading light,
I reach but lose the sight.
Your echo drifts away—
Yet something makes me stay…

If the river ever learns our truth,
Will it bring me back to you?
Every moment lost along the way
Still returns in shadows of the day.

Dans l’eau, j’entends encore ta voix,
(In the water, I still hear your voice,)
Si douce qu’elle me suit sous le froid.
(So gentle that it follows me through the cold.)
Chaque souffle murmure ton passé,
(Every breath murmurs your past,)
Dans un rêve… que je ne peux quitter.
(In a dream… that I cannot leave.)

Je te cherche dans l’obscurité…
(I search for you in the darkness…)
Mon cœur… pour l’éternité…
(My heart… for eternity…)

For Eternity

© 2025 Crimson Ashes
Created with Suno Pro (AI-assisted composition). Lyrics, arrangement, and artistic direction by Crimson Ashes.

For Eternity

Crimson Ashes

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