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"Sunday, October third. 6 p.m. rain... I was ordered to execute seven prisioners. Lined up, blindfolded and chained to a stake in a field. It seemed as if my bullets couldn't reach them. Instead the seven grinned and seven horrible visions of war, one by one, captured my soul..."

Kill! Here i walk down this godless trench where the corpses sink forever into shallow marshy grounds. Ican't remember confronting these extreme forms of violence. Knee-deep in mud, where skies weep leaden tears and blood.

 

It's hard to breathe within this thick cloak of sulphurius mist, conjuring slaughtering soldiers into sickening silhouettes. From this forsaken battlefield no soul can be dismissed. As if the devil is in charge, givin orders from the dephts of the abyss.

 

Goddamn! It's coming hard. Fire fight and waves of bombardments blowing soil, bone and flesh apart. Running to survive maybe the last private still alive. Suddenly it stops! I turn and see no enemy. There's nothing behind me.

 

I can't believe my eyes. I can't believe what i see. A timeless, frozen scenery where nature stands still! Except for me!

 

So strange to see a still image of this infernal reality. Staring at shrapnel and bullets on an incomplete journey. When suicide burdens my mind, i'm startled by a horrible screaming from behind.

Luring me to a spot where a friend of my platoon walked into an ambush, he screamed: "Please kill me! Chralie's coming soon!"

 

My 1911 is too loud, that's why i reach for the knife. Then, again, hesitation! I cannot take his life!

 

Goddamned fucking gooks! He's captured by the enemy. Dragged away for days of torture, screaming these last words at me: "You son of a whore should be terrified! In this hell i'll wait for you!"

 

And right before i step on that mine i ask myself: "Did he just speak the truth?"

 

Briefly i comprehend, all this time i was damned. His grudge keeps me in hell for eternity. Every time i die he waits for me.

This is my destiny...

Another tale of tragedy. He made the choice to end his life. So it is written, passionately. This soldier's fervent wish for suicide. His soul torn asunder by the horrors of war. One carrying so much death will soon care for life no more.

 

On the first day the soldier would quietly retreat to shoot himself through the head not far from his infantry.

 

"I can hear footsteps. Someone's coming near. Fuck! Should i stay? Disappear? Es ist mein bester Freund. Diesem soldat ist immer Für mich da. Quickly i put my Luger away. I thought this was my last day but i failed!"

 

"Bitte tötet mich! Bitte töte mich!"

 

On the second day he opened his eyes. Consumed by sadness he thought: "Today is the day i die. I will take my life with the rope, a bullet or maybe the knife"

 

So depressed. So empty. Wandering hopelessly, searching for death. His soul feels so old and so cold. The only desire left is his yearning for death.

 

He stumbled across an old farmstead and entered this wooden shack. There he found a rope and the guts to jump and hang with a broken neck. The second he tightened the slipknot, the barn door flew open. This time he was caught by a farmer who grabbed his legs to lift and hold him high. The soldier kicking and screaming: "You bastard! Let me hang and die!"

 

In this struggle the soldier went mad. When the rope snapped, he pulled a knife and, nine times in the stomach, the farmer was stabbed.

 

"Bitte töte mich!"

 

On the third day there was a fire fight. This bloody assault would last until midnight. Another opportunity for our soldier who craves suicide.

 

With open arms into the line of fire he asked for death. But hen he watched his friend, who is trying to prevent him from killing himself again, die for his own determined suicide.

 

Here comes the part where he sticks the Luger into his mouth. He was shot twice in the spine from behind, then blows half his face all over the ground. Not dead yet but completely fucking paralyzed, Kept alive in his hell for two long years before he finally dies.

Listen! Don't you hear these mad symphonies of grievance and fear? Melancholy and despair can be sensed when we draw near. Some hear a violin sound, others hear a man moaning in tears. These fields are haunted by nature's most sombre melodies. Suicidal white noise absorbing the essence from light, mirth and vitality. These grounds are haunted by reflections from World War II...

 

Arise! 1941, '42

The identity of warfare on the East Front is lugubrious. There's one soldier incapable of committing sin. Kept alive by his comrades thanks to his heavenly gift with a violin.

 

His brilliant music so beautiful and pure... Shining warmth upon every soldier. It helps them to endure. Breath-taking melodies consuming all hate, sorrow and fear. These magnificent tunes are like silk for their ears. And for a moment their pain disappears.

 

But this moment will not last when they are baffled by another blast. The enemy is near. Rain of bullets killing soldiers there and here. And so the instrument of peace is being silenced by the one of war. It plays the music of the dead; music made of lead.

 

"I've had enough of this sickening war and it's murderous puppets! They don't understand the language of music cannot be spoken in death. I never took a life! Maybe now is the time to take mine. In the name of music; shall I cut my wrists or hang myself high by a violin string? A symphonic suicide is what I shall bring!"

 

The enemy lies on the other side of the field. He decides to walk straight into the fire fight, playing this dreamlike masterpiece. Every soldier stops, holds his breath. Not a single shot is being heard during an intro for his own death.

 

And when the violin bow is being lowered at the end, both sides simultaneously open fire. There's the corpse of the violinist lying in mud and barbed wire.

 

These fields are haunted by the funerary dirge of a violinist. Can't you hear his call of death? Listen! Don't you hear these mad symphonies of grievance and fear? Melancholy and despair can be sensed when we draw near. Some hear a violin sound... Others hear a man moaning in tears.

 

The funerary dirge of a violinist...

"Scalpel, Clamps. Pull him to the ground. No innocent hands! Every second counts! Cut! Through his skin thick blood flows. No anaesthesia as I dig in!"

 

Spleen uncovered, brutally removed. So wasteful, tasteful, eaten from within. "Stitch him back up so he survives. Eating intestines to keep ourselves alive."

 

"Thirteen days starving to death since they bombed this place. All the roads blocked the forest stocked full of mines. No there is no escape!"

 

Half the village died, animals fled. Plague lurking like a ticking time bomb. The stench of death.

 

"I won't regret, doctor! Use your craft! Now amputate my hand so I can eat!"

 

Forced beyond sanity they kept themselves alive. Lost all their dignity.

 

"Forceps. Clamps. Pull him to the ground. No innocent hands! Every second counts! Cut through his skin! Thick blood flows. No anaesthesia as I dig in!"

 

More of them died, putrefied, but the surgeon lived on. Fed on their organs, limbs, a blood hunger never satisfied. Soon he realized his raid of death had come to an end.

 

No living soul left, for his hunger driven theft. Killed them all!

 

"But I must eat! Just a little piece of me! Come to daddy! He must eat!"

 

Twenty days almost starved to death in this forsaken place. Found by soldiers who brought him back. He was safe. Comatose, little did he know what horrors slowly crawled upon him once he (a)rose. "Severe war traumas" he was told.

 

"Mouth guard. Strap. Pull him to the ground. No innocent hands! Every second counts." He ate his own tongue. Thick blood flows. "We are losing him!" Heart fails.

 

So wasteful, tasteful, eaten from within. This blood hunger grown to be a part of him. Never satisfied, in his last moment realized, his raid of death had come to an end.

Battle formations, dead but still wandering ahead. A gigantic apparition keeps rising from a field, once colored red from bloodshed.

 

Where the sounds of war can still be heard and the balance of nature is seriously disturbed.

 

Spectral infantry battalions marching through a freezing timeless void. Again, ghostly cavalry regiments shall ride the lands they'd once destroyed.

 

Battle formations, fog-like infantry battalions. Battle formations marching unto an endless destination.

 

This is the sound of death;

(Death) a military haunting!

(Death) Battle formations,

(Death) still marching ahead!

(Death) Battle formations Death Death Death!!!

Staring, screaming "Bring my map!" with clenched fists. "Colonel, Attaquez l'Allemagne!" "Tous nos hommes, sans aucun remords!" This storm of sacrifice will reign!

 

I have conquered! "Murdered!" I am your leader! "No! You slaughtered us all!" Déserteurs! "We'll infest your nightmares with our pain!"

 

General Nightmare!

 

He dreamt the horrors of the ones condemned to death; screaming women, children... Tourmentés, brûlés, violés, tués!

 

Woken from delirium (by) the stench of burning flesh. Wading through an ocean of blood and tears still fresh.

 

"Suis-je fou? Mais je reste puissant! Je m'en fous de la populace!"

 

ATTACK!

 

Trembling, raging "Bring my map" with clenched fists. "My orders: Attack! Attack!" "Tous nos hommes, sans aucun remords!" This storm of sacrifice will reign!

 

General Nightmare!

 

He dreamt the horrors of the ones condemned to death; screaming women, children... Tourmentés, brûlés, tués!

 

He dreamt the horrors of the ones condemned to death; screaming women, children... Tourmentés, pour l'éternité!

Hector was nine. In school making colorful drawings most of his time. One day he made this horrible portrait of a dead man and his child. The teacher was shocked! How could such a young lad draw pictures so sad?

 

Hector was asked to explain. He replied: "It's me and daddy in the attic; hanging when we are dead."

 

Cold and dead!

 

Later that day, the boy left school early. Hector ran away. When he came home, he found his daddy's revolver. Now it's time to play. While father slept, his son blew his brains all over the bed. Then he went upstairs to the attic. There the kid shot himself through the head.

 

Cold and dead!

 

Mother came home and saw her husband. Mother came home and saw her son. Her soul collapsed and her heart froze. After the funerals she took an overdose.

 

It is the house! Haunted! The house is cursed, the house is damned. Bewitched! Touched by the devil's hand. Haunted! The house is bitter and sad. Bewitched! It somehow drove little Hector mad.

 

Once upon a time during the war the Nazis came and breached down this door.

 

"Aufstehen!" The men head to stand and see.

"Hinsehen!" How their women got raped so brutally. So hard...

 

Cold and dead!

 

Father resisted and for that he was taken upstairs after his boy. With his hands tied to his back and another rope around his neck, they made him stand upon the shoulders of his own dear son. Unfortunately the child could not hold his daddy that long.

 

For several days he sat amongst his ravished and executed family. Eventually he knotted a rope out of his own bed-sheets and hung himself next to daddy.

There he lies; haunted, hunted, beaten, tortured, hanged and eaten. Encumbered by the past of these seven apparitions.

 

"Where am I?" "Did I just die?" No one in sight. Scanning his surroundings for where they might lie.

 

The Prisoners, one by one, left him traumatized. Now only seven empty stakes pierce a blood red sky.

 

He runs but stumbles, tries to crawl, to flee from this macabre scene. With broken bones, blind and shocked, can't comprehend what he has seen.

 

The wet earth trembles and war winds howl like Wehrmacht-wolves on hungry prowl. "These fields are more than I can see! I cannot take this!"

 

These fields are lurking as black hail falls like ashen blades. These fields are closing in to bury him with frozen spades.

 

On bitter taste of blood he gags. Dragging on with broken legs to break loose from the horrid stench of burning lives and burning flags.

 

With elbows through the mud he drags himself forward! Forward! "I shall escape this plot. I must! I will!"

 

The wind lies down and the earth stands still. Black hail fire stings no more. Dear lord above, did I escape that hellish place of gore?

 

He ends up where it all began. Seven pair of demon eyes. Seven fearsome demon smiles.

 

Trapped in a paranormal chain. Bound to suffer endless warfare, torture, fear and pain.

 

So ends this tale of fates aligned. A prophecy of war entwined into bloody knots that won't unwind. This ominous recording is all that's left behind:

 

"Sunday, October third, 6 p.m. rain..."

"This is stormboot (...)

Position 5412-0524 East.

This is stormboot, please come in!

I repeat - (...) anyone read me?!"

 

JIJ ZULT VERZUIPEN IN JE EIGEN BLOED!

(YOU WILL DROWN IN YOUR OWN BLOOD!)

In the age of electricity and oil, my tugboat ploughs through waveless liquid soil.

Cruising at thirteen knots on pitch black sea.

There's a strange object on the radars in front of me. Still nothing I can see.

Just an open dreary sea...

 

Several attempts to contact that what appeared to be the size of a ship.

No response 'till I receive transmissions of hostile nature.

These voices cursing my goddamn name.

Hell, is this witchcraft or am I insane?

 

All of a sudden a dark silhouette ascends through godlike mist.

While it comes closer, I recognize the image of an old deserted ship.

 

I am aghast at the sight of a derelict vessel sailing this awkward night, appearing like a black floating cadaver.

There's not one single man aboard.

Her torn sails cloaking her like a cobwebbed widow, posing against this sad nightmarish horizon.

 

The temperature suddenly dropped.

My great-grandfather's clock, just ticking, now stopped.

I am smothered by a sudden shroud of fear.

For there's a ghost ship 'pon a funereal quest.

With a black bird circling hypnotic around its rocking empty crow's nest.

 

Fortunately this atrocious mystery sets sail away from me.

Some sailors claim other seamen beheld such sights.

Most died weird deaths during fog-clad days and nights.

The ship vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

Should I feel fear? Was it even there?

He came home with trembling bone and spoke:

"Evil roams the sea!"

I caught a glimpse of something I describe as witchery.

 

They must think I am weird.

My wife and daughter upset by what they hear.

As we go to bed, I kiss my loves goodnight then close my eyes to forget.

Soon a lucid dream!

The room around me shifts into a bleak and dismal scene.

 

Once my consciousness has vanished deep within my mind, the first thing I realize is taking a severe beating from someone in the middle of the night.

Between the shocking fragments of cold fists ponding on my face, I can see a man wearing a black hat causing harm upon me.

While he's laughing and punching simultaneously,

I manage to grab his throat with both hands and push him over to the left side, where my wife sleeps at night.

Grabbing the knife on the pedestal cupboard, not thinking twice.

And I stab into his face until both eyes liquidize and facial bones collapse.

 

Haphazardly in anxiety I maim his face extremely and still he's laughing loudly.

His clothes look rather old; a stench like dead things and a ragged captain's coat.

This dream is so ghastly and surreal.

So many stabwounds, sixty, maybe more.

His face simply shattered while blood decorates the floor.

 

Then there is this sound like a snarling hound.

I leave the room to look around.

It guides me to my daughter's room.

Her door is locked.

I am terrified of what I might find behind.

So quickly I climb the stairs to the old attic and find my double-barrelled shotgun.

Ammunition.

The weapon's loaded.

I need this nightmare to be done.

Done!

 

I break down the door forcefully.

A vicious false dog is what I see.

And still he's laughing loudly.

It's not my child for this beast seems foul and wild.

Two close ranged shots, still alive, brutally finished with the knife.

Now guess who's gargling closely behind me.

I turn around and again I am just an inch away from that face I carved up previously.

Still laughing... Suddenly...

 

Thank god I am awake!

 

Laying in my bed, covered in sweat.

The horror I have seen, was just an awful dream.

 

Clouded is my sight, finding bloodstains on my hands as I rub my eyes.

No!

What have I done?!

My wife besides me, still alive, but her face is simply gone.

Beauty has been maimed by my hand, disfigured.

Our kiss will never be the same.

 

Now where the fuck is my little girl?!

And a dead hound is not what I found, bloodstains on the wall.

There's my daughters corpse, slaughtered on the ground!

 

One last kiss upon my wife's trembling hand before I shoot her through the head to set her free from this misery.

 

Imagine the shotgun standing upside down with the barrel in my mouth.

The sighting was a portent of doom and the consequence definitely macabre.

And before my last tear hits the soil I...

"Weigh the anchor and hoist the sails!

Work harder you drunken snails!

For treasury like pepper as gold.

Let this nautical voyage begin.

We are powered by strong European winds."

 

The triumph of The United Dutch East-India Company.

 

We run a monopoly: spice trade, violence and slavery

"Full speed ahead!"

He's hollering as if he's mad.

This ship is captained by a successful psychopath.

 

Fearless... No conscience...

The infamous captain Van Der Decken.

 

Through the foulest gales, along dangerous reefs and treacherous bays.

Respect and obedience.

Under his command they felt challenged but safe.

Determination and greed is what he felt.

Possessed and focused on profit and wealth.

 

"Weigh the anchor and hoist the sails!

Work harder you drunken snails!

For treasury like pepper as gold.

Let this nautical voyage begin.

We are powered by strong European winds."

 

"Bring me the rum

To celebrate the fortunes to come.

Let us sing and drink on a rich and glorious time.

For we shall succeed just like this harmonious rhyme."

Come Catharina and kiss the gold medal, a trophy for the most respected man around.

Breathe with me from the opium pipe and drink a little more wine.

I love you, but not as much as my sea, ship and crew.

What?!

Now you hide your fears lest it becomes your fault should I choose to molest you.

Catharina!

If you try to leave, there will be grief.

A wonderful house built for my wife to dwell, still nagging like one of my annoying men.

Catharina!

He defies the trust in marriage and god.

For there are bloodstains on the captain's log.

I stand for greed, lust and the willpower to defeat.

The mask I wear is kind, with a distorted face underneath.

I believe in bliss through violence and suppression.

Take, rob and rape.

Don't let these filthy foreigners escape.

On our pillage through the Indian seas, we sail heartless under the flag of piracy.

Ravish and ruin their lives.

Execute their children right before their eyes.

My treasure chambers, teeming with the riches I adore.

I call it passion, not a sin, to kill for more and more.

Come Catharina and kiss the gold medal, a trophy for the most respected man around.

Breathe with me from the opium the opium pipe and drink a little more wine.

I love you, but not as much as my sea, ship and crew.

What?!

Now hold your tears lest it becomes your fault I should choose to violate you.

Once he sailed the course of trade and righteousness.

A stern, yet stout, master of the sea.

Now his soul drowns in condescension.

His mind corrupted and martyred by greed.

Bloodstains on the captain's log!

This storm...

Lightning, fears, winds and monstrous waves!

A demonic tempest!

My men, gone, raining

 

"I command!"

 

We set sail!

 

"I beg you, my captain!

Christ has forbidden to set sail on east on sunday!"

 

What!?

Your God!?

May he suffocate, may he rot!

Clamp the bible, close to me,

His book of lies I shall now cast into the sea!

 

"This is blasphemy!"

 

Your hold your tongue or rip it out and have your heart for mutiny...

 

"No! You cannot send us into madness! We shall not obey!"

 

With my knife I slowly penetrate his tender throat!

 

I curse and rage: "Godverdomme! Wij zullen varen, al betekent het mijn dood!"

The crew froze as he wiped the blood off on his coat

And threw the helmsman ruthlessly overboard.

In defiance of the storm, that kept them anchored for so long, he swore an oath to forfeit right and wring.

Irreverent he cussed loudly: "I will round the cape,

even if I have to sail until doomsday!"

Their petrified facial expressions could tell: their master was like a devil on this floating piece of hell.

There and then he gave the signal of departure.

"Make sail and weigh the hook!"

And so they left the harbor.

Hear the Easter bells tolling through the roaring sound of a rough sea, accompanied by the sight of a ship sailing towards her destiny.

What a spectacle of Blasphemy.

There was no rejoice after his mad choice.

Sails were lost, decks were flooded and lightning turned their ship into a coal-black carcass.

Anxiety replaced vainglory.

The storm died down but a sinister shroud of darkness remained, for the daylight came no more.

Floating in unending dusk, adrift on liquid ground.

Months went by and land was never found.

Food supplies putrefied and pestilence broke out.

Suicide became routine, some chose suspension, others jumped and drowned.

The dead were sown in hammocks and disposed of in the sea, buried in a watery grave, after a short ceremony.

The crew froze as he left his cabin with knife and gun, slaughtering what was left of them one by one.

There was an evil murderous glimpse in his eyes.

By the time he was done, the ship was desecrated by death and demise.

Van der Decken lashes himself to the wheel, swearing at Christ: "I shall not yield!"

All at once a new storm rose and lightning struck.

The top mast broke off, impaling him, a shard of the crest piercing his chest, in a standing position nailed to the deck.

And so a man dies, and a ghost resurrects.

Lots of tears, months became years.

Their mothers wept for many nights,

wondering if their sons died.

Just when the grief

became permissive and brief, tales of a ghost ship were

spread... the same vessel where their brood found death.

 

A craft made of mist, coursing in a timeless direction.

This cadaverous sighting, causing mayhem through reflection.

These dark words are whispered in the local

hangout of our port.

Sailors and captains sketching a ship's

hull with a black shape aboard.

Robust dauntless sea-dogs

speak with a frightened tone in their voice:

 

"Blue was the sky and the sun smiled at the crew.

Then a storm came forth, moving swiftly from the north.

 

Claps of thunder rumble, cold winds whining loud.

A ghostly solstice, weeping thick tears from its dreary clouds.

As if these raindrops awoke something from its sleep, ticking on a liquid grave to evoke a devilish ship from the sea.

 

The rise of a haunting in the form of a demon vessel.

 

Now this black ship veered it's bow.

Changing her course, sailing straight into our direction.

Anxious seamen screaming out loud:

Search for protection!

Right before it collides, a dark figure was seen, standing on the prow with a black hound by his side. surrounded by corpses.

A sardonic smile and a sinister glance in his eyes.

 

No movement, not one single tremor was felt on board.

This spectral ship sailed straight through our vessel and our soul.

The only thing we sensed was a bleak gust, a chill breeze... so cold."

A black shape sits on a deck in a red glistening puddle,

sobbing and shaking, curled up in a huddle.

The shape of a man amidst silence and slaughter,

clothes torn and drenched in blood and salt water.

 

"His fortune to dust, his fortune to dust!

His triumph in vain, his triumph in vain!

Riches to ashes! His tears lost in rain!"

 

A ship made of mist like quicksilver thread.

This skeleton vessel sings songs for the dead.

To take a deep breath and set his mind back in motion,

he stumbles upright and fumbles to the prow.

 

His eyes now closed to hear his dear ocean,

he feels the world has altered somehow.

Deafening silence, the ocean seems gone.

Hardly a whisper nor notes of wind song

 

"His fortune to dust, his fortune to dust!

His triumph in vain, his triumph in vain!

Riches to ashes! His tears lost in rain!"

 

In a final attempt to end this bitter roam,

he looks at the stars with their comforting glare.

But the lights above that once guided him home,

scattered and shattered, are no longer there.

 

Now dawning upon him like rays of the sun,

his state and fate cannot be undone.

The captain now trapped on this skeleton vessel,

adrift on the void in a black floating castle.

 

Chained to a twilight and bound to his boat,

swearing his vengeance on others afloat.

Lights at the end that have the world in their grip.

He shall have his conquest

as death came through a phantom ship!

[Instrumental]

White is the mark of this sighting, black is it's soul

Dark is the soil where it haunts upon

Jesus Christ!

You were never capable of protecting these desecrated woods

Shadows over Lammendam

Shadows over Lammendam

 

It's the point of death's return for a grand castle there once burned

Something is following me!

Yet there's no one I see as I walk the old pathways near the woods

 

A murderous identity is staring from the trees

Now I realize that I have trodden spectral sanctities

 

Wandering through forests and dreary fields

I think I'm lost

Yes I'm lost

Cannot describe this horrendous fear, I think I'm cursed

Tricked and cursed

Suddenly I stumble onto a forgotten sanctuary

A tomb of a castle scorched by time, bound to the entity that is determined to take my life

 

Here comes the night!

Nocturnal threnodies and funerary thoughts of my death-bell clanging through my mind..

 

Overwhelmed by approaching dark sounds

Listen to the devilish anthems of a shrieking ghost when the moon is perfectly round

 

All that's left is a shallow empty moat

There were my rigid body floats through a cold void what Dutch men call 'dood'

 

No one in the village knew, why disappear?

Wish they knew my corpse was here!

Shadows over Lammendam

No return, no return from Lammendam!

Hear this legend:

A saga of despair from an old southern town called Sjilvend

The elder peasants warned us, we should fear a hidden unmarked tomb in those marshy woods not far from here

 

This is the saga of the white ghost haunting Lammendam

There a sick reflection keeps resurrecting only when the sun is gone

 

Once there stood a castle in a wood

It seemed a rather old, wealthy looking farmstead

There lived a girl with the beauty of a pearl

Especially when she wore a white dress and wandered through fields of hard-working churls

 

Everyone knew there were two young fellows who gave up everything for the love of their dreams

They did not care

Poor or rich..

She stole their hearts like a goddamn witch

 

This region once was called De Leiffartshof

One was the German son of Högenbusch, the other one came from a domain called Heeringhof

And they both weren't aware of their mistress in white who could not decide

Echoes.. from the seventeenth century!

Echoes.. from the seventeenth century!

Echoes.. from the seventeenth century!

 

During day he came with his horse and carriage then whistled..

Then she knew he was there..

A secret affair!

Therefore you'll be crowned as a whore

 

Lammendam!

Lammendam!

 

The sun is drowning in the landscapes of the earth

The time to seduce her second admirer

There lies a note by the old knotted oak, carrying a stone and romantic poetry telling her when where to go

 

One day he's riding his black horse through southern paradise

By coincidence he caught his doll cheating with another lad

Slut!

 

Why?

 

..and they hated passionately ever after

Hatred's occultation

causing harm upon their relation

No amour tomorrow

when love shall be consumed by sorrow, sorrow!

 

In olden days these kind of acts were a shameful disgrace

Maybe the price of jealousy and hate sealed her malicious fate

One night the village was awakened by agonizing screams

Her castle burned like the sceneries in Hell

She suffered like a pig

Oh god, I love this tale to tell!

 

Whorish desire sentenced with the punishment of fire

Repulsive temptress in white prepare to die

And kiss thy pale, warm skin goodbye

 

Hör mir zu!

Dein Fleisch ist in meiner welt verboten

Du solst tanzen im Schattenreich, dem Land der Toten

 

In Dunkelheit..

In Finsternis und Einsamkeit..

In Finsternis.. in Dunkelheit..

 

Whorish desire sentenced

with the punishment of fire

Unfaithful mistress in white

where is your pride?

Accept your faith in twilight

 

In Dunkelheit..

In Finsternis und Einsamkeit..

In Grausamkeit und Finsternis..

Im Schattenreich..

That night was weird

restless and bright

for the moon kept shining this awkward sick light

 

The winds came forth as if it sounded like a little child

No hundreds!

Weeping as if they realise it's time to die

 

Raindrops keep falling and falling like tears

Like the infant's sorrow, as if it's raining from their fears

Then what happened no one could tell, but mark my words

it's a pretty sick trick from hell

 

Goodnight..

Sleep tight..

My mistress in white..

Sweet dreams of death and moonlight

Next morning his corpse was found twisted, cut and broken

The way those empty eyes stared!

As if they saw the doors of Hell going open

 

Something bewitched returned from the ashes where she once burned

Princess of the moon

Roaming timeless gloom

Murder! Murder!

 

Once sick of hatred, now frightened of these unsolved deaths

His cheating mistress and her lover passed away like rats

Now Ian's hourglass is leaking time like a bleeding that cannot be stopped

For a lugubrious existence is craving for his teardrops and blood

 

Kijk mij aan zodat de duisternis in jouw ziel kan schijnen

Jouw bestaan zal als een tijdloze vloek in de dood verdwijnen

 

That day he's riding through the forest as his intuition speaks: "You are being followed!"

Then the spirit attacked from the trees

It pushed his face into the spinning carriage wheels

His skull cracked open..

..and there were no more screams!

One year later, still traumatized by her ghastly screams

He tastes and smells her burning flesh

in his most sickening, hypnotic dreams

These illusions seemed so damn real

What a nightmarish ordeal!

 

My lady's corpse was never found within the remains

Even her skeleton dissolved

There was no proper burial day

What a shame that heavenly beauty could not stay

And something devilish stayed to play

 

Corpse, corpse..

 

His name was Manfred, his father was a German count

Depression hid companion until his pounded, cold corpse shall be found

Depression!

Now he is suffering a severe form of psychosis

 

Corpse in a nebulous creek

 

I saw something white dwell through the woods like a macabre dead bride

Trembling with fear, still cannot believe

that like a false dog it kept staring at me

 

Corpse, corpse..

Corpse, corpse..

 

Seriously considering suicide

Shall I drink the poison, cut my wrists or hang myself high tonight?

 

He made a choice and took a ride along the farthest trees and then,

when they jumped a misty creek, he fell and broke his neck

Was he insane?

No!

She came back and pushed him, so sad..

 

Broke his neck

Horse shot dead

Broke his neck

Now he's dead!

 

Now he's dead

[Instrumental]

Ghost, a lost semi-transparent appearance

Soul, a fog-like human form of mental anger, caught between life and death

 

A threatening presence of an invisible personality

It keeps bewitching the sceneries of earth instead of departing to a much more blissfull world

 

Doomed and forgotten in a mortal realm of bloom

Repeating tragedy summoned by the moon

 

Paranormal hysteria

Poltergeist phenomena

Listen to the laments of the sick moaning dead

 

They speak a simple fearsome language

Knocking, moving objects and scratching against the walls

For some reason they refuse to pass over to the light

It could be love, hate, and vengeance that keeps them wandering circles at night

 

Heretic poltergeist phenomena!

Heretic poltergeist phenomena!

 

Ghost, a lost semi-transparent existence

Soul, a misty human form of negative anger, confusing life with death

 

Cursed and desolated in an earthly stream of tears, it keeps arising like a wolf when a full moon appears

Paranormal hysteria

Poltergeist phenomena

Tâchez dêtre rentrés avant le clair de lune

Parce qu'alors

...

la forêt devient vivante!

They plough on the lands near a damned, baleful source of evil

Drifting foreign knaves, broken slaves of war

Trying to avoid the wrath of the french revolution

Eyes of fear and confusion

They seem terrified of the white cloaked haze that lies dormant in daylight yet haunts moonlit crops at night

 

The french peasants called the apparition "La Madame Blanche"

 

Some of them worked late on their fields and mysteriously disappeared

As if they just ran straight into the black marsh, to escape from the atrocities of the white ghost

 

Certainly convinced she came forth since that hellish fire

Like a straw she burned!

None concerned until her phantasm had returned from a bleak spectral world

Frequently she's seen in the gleam of a dismal chimerical moon floating through clouds of gloom

 

La malédiction de La Madame Blanche

La malédiction de La Madame Blanche

 

This town is haunted

This town is goddamn cursed

These trees have eyes

Staring through your soul during moonrise

Oh, you don't believe the truth?

Turn around!

Perhaps she's standing right behind you

Right now!

Right now!

 

The french peasants called the apparition "La Madame Blanche"

These words were transformed by the church which identified the curse as "De Lammendam"

And don't expect a happy ending when I say goodbye

You may kiss the bride before you will brutally die

A few years later an author of sea-novels, entered

Raynhams dominion. Captain Murryat chose to spend his night.

In the room where the poltergeist most frequently arrived.

There hung a portrait, a sketch drawn of a lady.

It was the face of something dark still wandering this place.

 

Is it for real?...

I must reveal if these grim hauntings are the result of thieves and local smugglers.

 

On this dreary night he went to sleep, guided be two friends and candlelight.

All at once they froze...!

Suddenly they confronted the cursed lady.

She came forth like freezing winds from north.

No ghastly dream... The brown countess existed for real.

 

The armed captain pointed his gun and looses of a shot...!

The bullet passed straight through the fearsome shade.

Became lodged in the wall. This thing was not meant to fall.

 

No single cry, no wounds no blood... It should have died.

This unreal form dwells outside heavenly light.

 

Carrying a lantern.

Gliding past the walls where her soul became enthralled.

Fear replaced... skepticism.

At last the shade turned and grimned in a diabolical way.

Right before... she vanished.

Norfolk is cursed for the dead left a trace.

There a grand mansion was marked as unhallowed

place. Obscure sightings were frequently seen,

wandering dim hallways with an unearthly gleam.

 

Strange querimonious laughter at night. Probably

the consequence of ignoring heavenly light.

Somehow a sad spectral reality...

kept reflecting the presence of a shade called the brown lady.

 

The ghost of Raynham

The ghost of Raynham hall

 

I shall guide us through it's arcane past.

It was a time of romance and wine, before the (vis) count

Townshend, found out about his wife.

High was the price. Her indidelity would be severely punished for life,

Locked behind the walls at Raynham hall's apartments.

There's where she remained, driven insane until death came.

It was a shame,

"Unfaithful salacious whore... you will never get away!"

That's why Dorithy died.

After being held in this antiquated prison for life.

Sickness was the reason of her mysterious death..., was said.

Though many have told she'd broke her heart... then her neck!

 

Over the years dark tales have appeared of a shade in a brown brocade dress.

It was the ghost of the brown lady, still seeking for ethereal rest.

 

The ghost of Raynham

The ghost of Raynham hall

no lyrics yet, check back soon...

And when she finally reached heaven,

there was no light.

Norfolk is cursed for the dead left a trace.

There a grand mansion was marked as unhallowed

place. Obscure sightings were frequently seen,

wandering dim hallways with an unearthly gleam.

 

Strange querimonious laughter at night. Probably

the consequense of ignoring heavenly light. Somehow

a sad spectral reality... kept reflecting the presence of a

shade called the brown lady.

 

The ghost of Raynham

The ghost of Raynham hall

 

I shall guide us through it's arcane past.

It was a time of romance and wine, before the

(vis) countTownshend, found out about his wife.

High was the price. Her indidelity would be severely

punished for life,

Locked behind the walls at Raynham hall's

apartments. There's where she remaind, driven insane

until death caem. It was a shame, "Unfaithful

salacious whore... you will never get away!" That's why

Dorithy died. After beign held in this antiquated prison for life.

Sickness was the reason of her mysterious death...,

was said. Though many hace told she'd broke her heart...

then her neck!

 

Over the years dark tales have appeared of a shade in a

brown brocade dress. It was the ghost of the brown lady,

still seeking for ethereal rest.

 

The ghost of Raynham

The ghost of Raynham hall

Bewitching spheres I sense when the temperatures fall.

Whilst dusk quikly devoures all light inside the

Townshend's hall. Ghostly phenomena I have seen...

roaming it's huge corridors as if I dream abysmal dreams.

 

1835; the year that colonel Loftus saw dark things

at night. Walking towards his room... a spectral form

appeared then vapourized in gloom.

 

Tenebrous winds... waving curtains.

Unreal noises, footsteps and strange voices.

 

Neither christ nor sunlight marked this place with

holy grace during these christmas days. I fell...

dark things staring at me. This classic realm is just

another version of hell.

 

Her dead skin glowed with a pale luminescence. A

forgotten entity thtat dwells in a brown satin dress.

Chained in a void of tragedy. Bound to seek her

children in everlasting eternity.

 

Colonel Loftus met her twice. The second time...

she stared at him and had no eyes. Her feature looked

horrific and cruel, watching the colonel like a terrifying

pagan ghoul.

A few years later an author of sea-novels, entered

Raynhams dominion. Captain Murryat chose to spend

his night. In the room where the poltergeist most frequently

arrived.

There hung a portrait, a sketch drawn of a lady. It was the

face of something dark still wandering this place.

 

Is it for real?... I must reveal if these grim hauntings are

the result of thieves and local smugglers.

 

On this dreary night he went to sleep, guided be two

friends and candlelight. All at once they froza...! Suddenly

they confronted the cursed lady. She came forth like

freezing winds from north.

No ghastly dream... The brown countess existed for real.

 

The armed captain pointed his gun and looses of a shot...!

The bullit passed straight through the fearsome shade.

Became lodged in the wall. This thing was not ment to fall.

 

No single cry, no wounds no blood... It should have died.

This unreal form dwells outside heavenly light.

 

Carrying a lantarn. Gliding past the walls where her soul

became enthralled. Fear replaced... skeptism. At last

the shade turned and grimned in a diabolical way. Right

before... she vanished.

Two photographers were on assignment for a known

magazine. They approached the accursed hall. Unware

of the ghost that... still dwells within.

 

They were assigned to profile. Raynham's structure.

Focusing on adequate exposures. There hung a mystic

sphere. Emotions of unexplanable fear made them

clear they'd rather disappear.

For this old house gave them weird conjetures. As if

something dark come near.

 

Misty form roams thorugh the night.

Torturuous soul astrayed from light.

Portraits of dead entities.

Yonder realm photography.

 

Gazing with fear up the staircase. A ghostly

shape a rose before their eyes. Quik!... There is

something strange. Click!... Was the sound that the

flashlight pistol and the camera made. They developed

a picture that showed a morbid image... apparently

of the brown lady.

 

Raynham hall

Raynham hall

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no lyrics yet, check back soon...

no lyrics yet, check back soon...

no lyrics yet, check back soon...