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

There’s a shadow in the corner where the moonlight fades,
A whisper moving softly through the doubts I’ve made.
Every night I feel the pull of something left behind,
A presence in my mind.

Your hand upon the window leaves a trembling trace,
A memory still breathing in this empty place.
I sense you in the shiver of the candle’s dying flame,
Too close to be unnamed.

And though the world moves on,
I stand where we belong.
Your voice beneath the rain
Still whispers through my veins…

Someone in the dark remembers me,
A distant echo drifting endlessly.
A haunting touch that never fades away—
Calling through the gray.

I wander through the silence where our echoes kept,
Through ruins built of promises we never met.
You follow like a shadow stitched into the air,
A truth I cannot bear.

And though the world moves on,
I stand where we belong.
Your voice beneath the rain
Still whispers through my veins…

Someone in the storm is reaching out,
A gentle vow beneath a fading shout.
A memory the night cannot contain—
Speaking through the pain.

In every shiver of my skin,
In every echo of the past,
You linger where the heart remains…
Calling me again…

Someone in the flames of yesterday
Still holds the part of me I gave away.
Through every tear, through every shadowed day—
You guide me through the fray.

And in the quiet after rain,
I hear you softly breathe again.

The Ghost Who Knows My Name

A gothic meditation on the erosion of humanity through mechanical perfection — where flesh and faith collapse into the hum of the machine. A symbolist vision of beauty corrupted, erotic despair, and synthetic divinity. The atmosphere is claustrophobic yet sensual, with decaying grandeur. Evokes rusted cathedrals, flickering neon altars, and the drowning pulse of digital sin

Skin of silver, eyes of wire,  
Breath replaced by static choir.  
In every pulse, the body weeps,  
Through circuits cold, the sorrow seeps.

The body electric drowns tonight,  
In neon waves of fractured light.  
Desire hums beneath the skin,  
A holy void where I begin.

Hands like prayer, but void of grace,  
Steel embraces flesh’s face.  
Heart becomes an engine’s song,  
And mercy bleeds where I belong.

The body electric drowns tonight,  
In neon waves of fractured light.  
Desire hums beneath the skin,  
A holy void where I begin.

I feel the faith unwind,  
Wires wrap around my spine.

I drown inside the glowing dark,  
No pulse remains, no holy spark.

The Body Electric Drowns

A rock project, experimenting with different styles and rock genres. Show me what you like.

The Ghost Who Knows My Name

Crimson Ashes

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