1. |
||||
|
Beneath the pale and fleeting moon,
They wander streets in borrowed gloom.
Tiny voices, laughter wide,
Unknowing shades drift by their side.
Lanterns burn with faces carved,
Guiding souls from worlds unbarred.
Through veil and smoke, they dance as one,
The dead and living, all undone.
Sweet offerings on windowsills,
The night consumes what daylight stills...
Behind each mask a heart may hide,
But not all hearts are warm inside.
Old names whispered through the leaves,
The hungry wind no longer grieves.
Steps in rhythm, hand in hand,
Echoes bloom across the land.
Through veil and smoke, they dance as one,
The dead and living, all undone.
Sweet offerings on windowsills,
The night consumes what daylight stills.
The laughter fades, the candles die,
One child looks up and meets an eye.
Not human, not of mortal hue,
The mask he wore now sees him too.
Through veil and smoke, they dance as one,
Till dawn unweaves what’s been begun.
The souls return, their hunger stilled,
Yet some remain… to roam the hills.
A whisper hums through morning’s chill,
“Come play again… we’re waiting still.”
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
Through shrouded streets, the candles gleam,
Each flame a thread within the dream.
The air remembers what was lost,
Each breath a toll, each sigh a cost.
Beneath the moon’s unblinking eye,
The veil grows thin, the living lie.
We speak their names in trembling tones,
To guide the weary through the stones.
Let none be left to drift in pain,
Upon the eve of whispered names.
The churchyard hums with quiet grace,
No sound, yet echoes fill the place.
A mother’s prayer, a lover’s plea,
Entwine across eternity.
The cold wind hums their soft refrain,
And shadows turn to voice again.
We speak their names in trembling tones,
To guide the weary through the stones.
Let none be lost, nor souls profane,
Upon the eve of whispered names.
If they could cross, if they could stay,
Would we still dare to light the way?
For every name the living cry,
A spirit lingers, asking “why?”
We speak their names, though none may hear,
Through veil and dream they still draw near.
Till dawn unweaves this ghostly chain,
And silence claims the whispered names.
|
||||
3. |
||||
|
I wander halls where laughter fades,
Through dust of years, my shadow stays.
The floorboards hum our ancient song,
Where once we lived, now I belong.
The widow weeps in candlelight,
I reach for warmth into the night.
No voice to call, no hand to hold,
The fire’s gone, the hearth grown cold.
I linger near the oaken door;
A heart that beats no more.
I see them sleep where I once dreamed,
Their gentle breath, my life redeemed.
A whisper slips between the floor,
They hear… and fear my every word.
Their cries awaken all my pain,
I never meant to haunt again.
No voice to call, no hand to hold,
The fire’s gone, the hearth grown cold.
I linger near the oaken door;
A heart that beats no more.
The veil grew thin, I called their names,
They fled the house, they cursed my flame.
Now silence dwells where love once soared,
My home is now my prison ward.
No voice to call, no hand to hold,
The fire’s gone, the hearth grown cold.
Alone I wait where shadows pour;
A heart that beats no more.
And when the dawn sweeps down the floor,
I fade behind the closing door.
No prayers to hear, no light to mourn;
A heart that beats… no more.
|
||||
4. |
Across Empty Hallways
06:28
|
|||
|
Whispers crawl along the walls,
shadows breathe where no one walks.
Steps I hear, but none are mine,
ghosts of silence intertwine.
Cold embrace of stone and steel,
emptiness is all I feel.
Candles weep with ashen flame,
every corridor calls my name.
Through empty hallways, I wander alone,
where echoes linger, flesh turned to stone.
A requiem sung for the nameless and gone,
I walk the morgue, forever drawn.
Glass reflects a hollow face,
time has left no living trace.
Frozen air, a bitter hymn,
souls await in shadows dim.
Through empty hallways, I wander alone,
where echoes linger, flesh turned to stone.
A requiem sung for the nameless and gone,
I walk the morgue, forever drawn.
|
||||
5. |
||||
|
I held the flame against the night,
I bled my hands to turn the tide.
I whispered prayers through every breath,
But still they drifted into death...
As morning comes with mourning,
The cries will pierce the day.
No healing left, imploring,
Just sorrow in despair.
I saw the eyes of hope grow dim,
The fever won, it silenced him.
The father weeps, the mother claws,
And mourning floods these fragile walls.
When morning comes with mourning,
The cries will pierce the day.
The lantern keeps on burning,
But light can’t chase away.
I knock on doors, I bear the news,
No cure to give, no life to choose.
The plague decides, I stand and stay,
A witness doomed to walk away.
When morning comes with mourning,
The cries will pierce the day.
And every dawn returning,
Reminds me of those I couldn’t save.
|
||||
6. |
The Plague Doctor
05:04
|
|||
|
He walks through empty streets,
Lamp in hand, in sorrow’s deep.
Through silent alleys and broken homes,
He watched the plague consume it all.
Undone with grief, yet still he arrives,
To heal the ill, or watch them die.
A whisper echoes through the gloom:
“Who stays the savior when hope is doomed?”
The children hide, the mothers weep,
Their prayers fade where angels sleep.
His gaze reflects their haunted cries,
Behind the mask, his soul's demise.
Oh, Plague Doctor, chase off the blight,
Free us from sickness, curse of the night.
Your mercy bleeds through ashen rain,
Yet all your cures are carved in pain.
Each knock upon a rotting door,
Another dream that breathes no more.
He marks the walls, one cross, one breath,
A hymn for those who waned to death.
And in the mist, he hears them call,
The ghosts of those he could not hold.
He lits a candle with trembling hands,
And watches grief enshroud the lands.
Oh, Plague Doctor, you walk alone,
Through hollow streets and bloodstained stone.
Your shadow moves like whispered dread,
Among dim candles for the nameless dead.
|
||||
7. |
Candles for the Nameless
05:42
|
|||
|
Through narrow streets of silence,
Where lanterns faintly weep,
The shadows bear their burdens,
The nameless fall asleep.
Candles for the nameless,
Flicker in the haze,
A prayer for the forgotten,
That time could not erase.
No footsteps mark their passing,
No epitaphs remain,
Yet whispers haunt the corners,
Like echoes carved in pain.
Candles for the nameless,
Flicker in the haze,
A prayer for the forgotten,
That sorrow still betrays.
Between the veil of mourning,
And dreams we can’t recall,
The plague doctor keeps walking,
A witness to them all.
Candles for the nameless,
Glow against the gloom,
A vigil in the silence,
Till dawn becomes their tomb.
Candles for the nameless,
Are guiding him back home,
The plague doctor keeps walking,
A path he walks alone.
Candles for the nameless,
As phantoms softly call,
The plague doctor keeps walking,
A witness to them all...
|
||||
8. |
||||
|
In alleys pale and narrow,
Where lanterns gasp for breath,
The whispers bloom like poison,
And every step courts death.
The cobblestones remember,
Each sin beneath the veil,
Where mercy’s just a rumour,
And silence tells the tale.
In the fog of Whitechapel,
The night forgets its name,
The ghosts parade in mourning,
Yet no one takes the blame.
A razor hums like prayer,
Through shadows damp and deep,
And London hides her sorrow,
Where no soul dares to weep.
The rain dissolves confession,
The stars avert their eyes,
Each corner births a secret,
That dawn will never prize.
A figure fades through lamplight,
A whisper, not a man—
He cuts the night in silence,
Because he knows he can.
In the fog of Whitechapel,
The night forgets its name,
The echoes drown in reverence,
Yet none recall their shame.
The blade becomes a promise,
The heart, a fleeting sound,
And all that love remembered,
Now stains the haunted ground.
The wind recites requiems,
For those it cannot save,
The fog becomes their coffin,
The Thames, their solemn grave.
In the fog of Whitechapel,
The past still softly bleeds,
Through shattered prayers and footprints,
That time no longer heeds.
No justice ever follows,
No candle finds the air,
Just endless mist and sorrow—
And something waiting there...
|
||||
9. |
The House of Usher
05:07
|
|||
|
Beneath the rain, the manor stands,
A tomb of time, with trembling hands.
Its windows weep, its halls confide,
Of whispered names and blood denied.
A lineage cursed, the veil of gloom,
Two souls entombed within one tomb.
The brother pale, the sister still,
Bound by the house, by fevered will.
Each portrait stares, each shadow sighs,
The echo of their dying ties.
Through rotting walls, her heartbeat chills,
And something wakes the sleeping hills.
The walls remember every cry,
The bloodline fades, yet will not die.
The storm shall sing, the stones shall fall,
The curse of Usher ends it all.
He hears her steps beneath the floor,
The dead return to knock once more.
Her crimson gown, her silent thrill,
“The teeth — white, and beautiful still…”
A final cry, a candle dies,
The mirror cracks beneath his eyes.
The lineage fades, the earth takes hold,
The tale retold, the grave grows cold.
Oh, House of Usher, torn apart,
A kingdom built of broken hearts.
Through fire and ash, your curse fulfilled,
“The teeth — white, and beautiful still…”
And as the dawn devours the rain,
No house remains, no trace, no name.
Yet somewhere deep, the whispers thrill,
“The teeth — white, and beautiful still…”
|
||||
10. |
The Dollmaker's Tale
05:14
|
|||
|
One by one, the fever came,
And whispered softly each dear name.
I washed their hands, I combed their hair,
Now none but silence lingers there.
Yet still they smile, as once they did,
Their faces pale, their laughter hid.
I carved their touch from wood back then,
So none I love would die again.
Oh, see them glow in candlelight,
So perfect, pure, and coldly bright.
Their glassy eyes still gaze at me,
And I forget what used to be.
My daughter hums a gentle tune,
Though breathless since the harvest moon.
My wife still waits beside the fire,
Her painted lips will never tire.
Oh, see them glow in candlelight,
So perfect, pure, and coldly bright.
Their glassy eyes still gaze at me,
And I forget what used to be.
Outside, the church bell mourns the dead,
Inside, my children bow their heads.
The neighbors fled, let them be gone,
For I have all I need, alone.
The years drift by in ticking clocks,
Their porcelain hands caress the locks.
I sleep at peace, surrounded, blessed,
Their hollow hearts upon my chest.
When they found me, I was still,
A smile upon me, soft and ill.
And all around, in neat display,
My loves, my dolls, my sweet decay.
|
||||
11. |
The Harvest Witch
06:44
|
|||
|
The fields are gold, the air is still,
The moon ascends beyond the hill.
We sing her name, though none recall,
The price she takes to bless us all.
In every seed, a secret sown,
A whispered debt the earth has grown.
When crows return and shadows bend,
The Harvest Witch will rise again.
Oh, Samhain Witch, with amber eyes,
Your breath is mist, your touch denies.
Through burning leaves and turning soil,
You claim the hearts that fed your toil.
The children dream, the elders pray,
But something stirs where wheat decays.
She walks unseen through dust and chaff,
Her voice a hymn, her smile a laugh.
The lanterns fade, the winds confess,
The field’s adorned in her caress.
No prayer nor flame can still her hand,
She takes what life the earth demands.
Oh, Samhain Witch, with amber eyes,
Your breath is mist, your touch denies.
Through burning leaves and turning soil,
You claim the hearts that fed your toil.
A single soul for every year,
To keep the frost from drawing near.
We feast, we dance, we chant her name,
Yet none are ever quite the same.
Oh, Samhain Witch, we make our plea,
Spare those we love, take only me.
The moonlight weeps, the crops ignite,
Her shadow fades into the night.
And when the dawn breaks cold and clear,
The fields still bloom, yet none appear.
For life demands its tithe of pain…
The Harvest Witch shall rise again.
|
||||
12. |
Widow's Waltz
04:46
|
|||
|
Under veils of mourning lace,
She lights the room with ghostly grace.
The clock stands still, the air grows cold,
A waltz begins for hearts grown old.
Step by step, the shadows sway,
Round she turns where dreams decay.
The widow’s waltz, so slow, so deep,
Where vows are sung and secrets sleep.
She hums the tune they used to play,
Each note a tear that fades away.
His ring still gleams upon her hand,
A circle time can’t understand.
Step by step, the shadows sway,
Round she turns where dreams decay.
The widow’s waltz, so slow, so deep,
Where vows are sung and secrets sleep.
Candles flicker, curtains weep,
The dead return when silence sleeps.
Her whisper calls across the gloom,
“Come dance with me beyond the tomb.”
A breath of frost, a fleeting kiss,
A moment’s grief disguised as bliss.
The dawn breaks pale through windowed glass,
But she still sways—though night has passed.
Step by step, the shadows sway,
Round she turns and fades away.
The widow’s waltz shall never cease,
For love’s last dance is death’s release.
|
||||
13. |
All Hallows' Wait
05:50
|
|||
|
Beneath dead trees, where shadows seep,
He tends the graves the mourners weep.
A nameless soul with shovel worn,
Who sings to soothe his lonely world.
The town forgets, their candles fade,
Yet still he walks where bones are laid.
Each name he reads, carved in stone,
Will keep him warm in autumn's fall.
When midnight tolls, the cold winds sigh,
The dead arise beneath the sky.
Through silver fog and candle’s gleam,
He smiles at last, through broken seams.
The world above won’t speak his name,
They call him cursed, they call him strange.
But ‘mid the tombs, where echoes dwell,
He finds the peace no lie can tell.
The bells resound, the veil grows thin,
The ghosts return—they call to him.
With hollow eyes and trembling grace,
They bring back warmth the years erased.
When midnight tolls, the cold winds sigh,
The dead arise beneath the sky.
Through silver fog and candle’s gleam,
He smiles at last, through broken seams.
No grief remains, no tears to fall,
Moonlight adorns his spectral hall.
Among his friends of dust and bone,
He finds the life he’s never known.
When dawn returns, they fade away,
Their voices drift where shadows stay.
Yet in his heart, the sorrow wins,
He waits for them… next Halloween.
|
||||
14. |
||||
|
The stairs still breathe beneath the dust,
Each echo stirs the ghosts I trust.
A whisper drifts through fractured air,
And something waits… but nothing’s there.
The silence hums and calls my name,
So soft, so cold, yet just the same.
I hold my breath, I do not dare,
To wake the dead that linger there.
A creaking board, a shadow’s glare,
The house remembers I’m still here.
And through the dark, beyond repair,
The silence hums… its final prayer.
|
||||
Einfallen Buenos Aires, Argentina
I write lyrics that tell stories—sometimes personal, sometimes mythical, always from the heart.
Each album is a
world of its own, shaped by the themes that haunt and inspire me.
If you’re drawn to songs that whisper, ache, and dream... you’ll find a home here.
... more
