One Day all That Will be Left is a Bitter Memory of a Life Left Unfinished

Possesed By The Soul Of The Forest

Rotting Death

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.

slaughter low

Shotgun Producer

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