Crimson veil across the sky tonight
Ancient prophecies unfold
Shadows dance in blood-red light
Secrets that were never told

The moon ascends in scarlet flame
Awakening the cursed ground
The wolves all cry a forgotten name
As darkness spreads without a sound

Blood moon rising, crimson eye
Witness to the end of days
Blood moon burning in the sky
Guiding us through death's dark maze

The river runs with midnight wine
Reflections of a world undone
The stars align in evil sign
The ritual has just begun

Blood moon rising, crimson eye
Witness to the end of days
Blood moon burning in the sky
Guiding us through death's dark maze

Under its gaze we are transformed
Neither living nor yet deceased
By ancient powers we are reformed
Eternal servants of the beast

The blood moon fades but leaves its mark
Forever bound to endless night
We walk between the light and dark
Until the next blood moon's red light

Blood Moon Rising

She rises slow from smoke and ash,  
A sovereign dark, her silent lash.  
The air submits, the ground obeys,  
Her shadow falls in endless maze.  

Each word she speaks bends flesh and bone,  
Her will is law, her gaze a throne.  
In chains of silk, my soul confined,  
I kneel and quake beneath her mind.  

Mistress of night, my heart in thrall,  
Her whispered claim consumes us all.  
A crown of pain, a touch of flame,  
I lose myself to her dark reign.  

Through broken halls and shattered glass,  
Her echo calls, my freedoms pass.  
I feel her hand upon my chest,  
And in her grip, I find unrest.  

"Obey the dark, release your fire,  
Your deepest fear fuels my desire."  

Mistress of night, my heart in thrall,  
Her whispered claim consumes us all.  
Beneath her gaze, the shadows bend,  
And in her reign, my soul ascends.  

The echoes fade, the night remains,  
Her sovereign shape in spectral chains.  
And as I fall beneath her might,  
I rise again within her night.  

Chains of Silk

Through veils of obsidian mist,
Where nightshade blooms in twisted groves,
The witches gather in the crypt,
And chant their dark forbidden troves.

The cauldron bubbles black as night,
With potions made of ancient fear,
By candlelight and lunar sight,
They summon forces dark and drear.

Hexes woven in the dark,
Curses etched in ancient bark,
Spells that bind and tear apart,
The witches' craft, the blackened art.

Their cloaks of raven feather flow,
As they circle 'round the pyre,
Their incantations ebb and grow,
As flames ascend ever higher.

In this sabbath of the cursed,
Where good and evil have reversed,
The pentagram glows crimson bright,
As they dance through endless night.

Hexes woven in the dark,
Curses etched in ancient bark,
Spells that bind and tear apart,
The witches' craft, the blackened art.

When dawn arrives, they disappear,
But their hexes still remain here.

Hexes of the Coven

All Things Fade

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

Heed not the words that tear the flesh,  
Nor break the bond that blood enmesh.  

“Forsake thy sire, forsake thy dame,”  
They chant in shadow, speak no name.  
What vile creed commands the heart,  
To rend the ties that life impart?  

Reprehensible, their gospel lies,  
I spit on doctrine, scorn their cries.  
No hand shall sever, no tongue shall bind,  
The love of kin, the ties that bind.  

They dress in robes of fire and fear,  
Yet I see through the smoke, the leer.  
The hearth, the womb, the father’s hand,  
Shall not fall prey to their command.  

No altar calls, no bell shall toll,  
I keep the heart, I keep the soul.  
Their edicts rot, their words decay,  
I walk my path, my own dark way.  

Reprehensible, their gospel lies,  
I spit on doctrine, scorn their cries.  
No hand shall sever, no tongue shall bind,  
The love of kin, the ties that bind.  

I kneel to none who teaches shame,  
I burn their scrolls, I break their claim.  
The bonds of blood, the hearth, the home,  
Shall never fall where shadows roam.  

Heed not the words that tear the flesh,  
Nor break the bond that blood enmesh.  
I walk in night, yet hold the flame,  
Of love untorn by creed or name.

Heed not the words that tear the flesh

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

Prowl as if you're doin' time
While stalking me
Color me property
Cross the line
And devour me 

She's my punk rock sweetheart
Both hell and heavenly
Flawless in her in-between
Venom lips and shattered heart
A siren’s curse in a saint’s decree
A twilight ghost in midnight’s sheen

But she's still free
No consequences
Watch her weave
Shoot the stars down for her leathers
Beg her please
Ask no questions
Stand and plead
She's my watershed

[Bridge]
She speaks sin-like knowledge
Protection
Connection
Her legacy circles sometimes
My girl look fine
Love the platinum hair line
Old hat now
Baby

But she's still free
No consequences
Watch her weave
Shoot the stars down for her leathers
Beg her please
Ask no questions
Stand and plead
She's my watershed

She speaks sin-like knowledge
Protection
Connection

Venom Lips

I watched you move through shadowed halls,  
A childhood gaze behind the walls,  
Velvet gown, and eyes like night,  
You taught me beauty in the blight.  

Morticia, mistress of my awe,  
The night revealed what daylight saw,  
Your silent dance, your whispered creed,  
Showed a young heart what darkness needs.  

Through candlelight and quiet rooms,  
I learned to love the dark that looms,  
Every glance a lesson made,  
In gothic shadows, I was swayed.  

Guitars scratch, the shadows bend,  
Childhood wonder, lessons penned.  

Morticia, mistress of my awe,  
The night revealed what daylight saw,  
I walk now where your shadows tread,  
Learning from the paths you led.  

The world may shine in blinding day,  
But in your dark, I found my way,  
Morticia, eternal, sly,  
The night lives on inside my eye.

Morticia


Born under a ledden sky
Cursed from first breath to last sigh
Shadows cling to pallid skin
Wednesday's child, marked within

Wednesday's child is full of woe
Darkness follows where they go
Melancholy in their veins
Haunted by unspoken pains

Misfortune dogs their every step
Tears are all that they have kept
In the mirror, sorrow's face
Wednesday's child, lost in space

Wednesday's child is full of woe
Darkness follows where they go
Melancholy in their veins
Haunted by unspoken pains

Woe-filled child of Wednesday's dawn
Forever cursed, forever torn
In shadows deep, they find their place
Embracing fate with gothic grace

Wednesday's Child

80s nostalgic goth project that channels the darkest depths of melancholy and industrial grit. Named after the Sindarin word for “black waters”.

New tracks tagged #atmospheric doom