The Wraith Uncrowned

by A Dream of Poe

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Brandon Collins
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Brandon Collins Dramatic string arrangements, moody piano, and the forlorn, yet sinister thunder of doom! This is an album of passionate misery that will wrap you in its dark spell and guide you through the twilight! Favorite track: The Bringer Of Dawn.
O que é esta escuridão que me rodeia E embala numa corrente de ilusória paz? Cantem os poetas uma última epopeia, Com um verso nobre, corajoso, audaz. Adormecerei neste sepulcro aquático. Aos meus, reservo a dor da ausência; E viverei no rumorejar enfático Daqueles que celebrarem a minha vivência. What is this darkness that surrounds me And cradles me in a stream of illusory peace? May the poets sing one last epopee With a noble, courageous, and bold verse. I will fall asleep in this watery sepulcher. To my fellows, I reserve the pain of absence, And I will live in the emphatic whisper Of those who celebrate my existence.
[Sailor] I travel to the east With one eye set in discovery. Ragged, forlorn, but bathed in creativity, My verses are versed in misery. Frail, I need to conquer my terror: Crossing the waters I am averse; Hoping my anxiety doesn’t get worse At the hands of Loneliness, the Perverse. The winds took us to the cape Where hope is enslaved; Where thousands of names are engraved In the waters where life is waived. Then a tempest took my body Down into a bottomless pit. I was scared, sobbing not to submit At the hands of Woe, the Misfit. Alas, my sight dims. My breathing, now so frail. Unsteady hands terrified to hail All the gods that cursed me to fail. May the poet’s king of Lusitania Spread our story in verse and rhyme. Here I have fallen in my prime To journey deep into Helheim. [The Wraith] Weep not, grieving child, And close your eyes. I’ll sever all of your ties, One by one as your body dies. Sing me this: A verse that can make me remember All the pieces I had to dismember From my ancient body of frost and ember. [Sailor] Chagrin, mortality’s curse. All beauty, ashes in a hearse. Bliss, parched earth ever obverse To the dark plains all must traverse. But save me from this fortune. Walk with me in lakes of tears, Of a thousand fathers crumbling on their fears— A desolate melody of the spheres. Alas, Deus vult I’ll follow you to the abyss. My body, flesh for the waters to kiss Now that I hear Death’s final hiss.
Enraged, I command this sea. For eons I’ve carried their prayers, Crushing them beneath me. I, the Guide of Mariners. Enshrined by eerie bones and skin, I judge not your accursed faith. Thousands of ghosts, I carry within. I, the Fallen, Azrael, the Wraith. When the curtain of life Falls suddenly over your astounded eyes, My majesty releases you from strife. I, Widowmaker, the Lord of Lies. At the Cape of Good Hope, Debris, pain, agony drew me. Life collapsing, hands reaching for a rope... I, the Deathly Escort, your destiny. Amidst the wrecked ships, A sailor still clings to hope. Refusing to kiss death’s lips, A vain attempt to elope. “Save your prayers,” I say. “For Death has chosen you today. Embrace the world as it fades to grey. This is a future you can’t betray.” And I swallow the dead. A phantom whale for the disenchanted. I imprison and shred The life you took for granted. “Save your prayers,” I say. “For I have chosen you today. Boy, man, old, weak and strong, Gravestones on my endless song. My labour is endless, Guiding the fallen on my undertow. All have been like you, restless, Before the final throe.
I’ve given enough time to lethargy. Twenty years ago I set sail to the sea Looking for a beast to make a plea— That unholy master of thanatology. In the wake of forgetfulness I search for the fallen one. But in truth I tell you, I forgot what to pursue. The world became askew, All the same in mist and dew. My restless soul still looks out Under the blackened sky, Fighting apathy, desolation, and doubt. I was looking for a friend Who met an untimely end. “It’s my mission,” I thought, “to descend Into the waters and the monster apprehend.” In the wake of forgetfulness I want to bring back the fallen one. Stories told that a sea beast Took the dead as a feast; And they wandered there for eternity, Inside its belly, in captivity. Sometimes I thought I’d lose my mind; Some days ravenous, hopeless, and blind, Trapped in the swirl of finding my friend, To find him before year’s end. All the anger of not knowing why, A thunderous storm in a silent shout For not saying a final goodbye. ’till the day came when I saw it, And my heart sank into a bottomless pit. Souls of the dead were its bones, eerily lit. And before the beast, I lost my valour and wit.
Punished 04:37
It used to be my pain, (But I) lost power over it. (And) bodies (still) pile up forever Over feelings of faith... A nightmare lies Between me And the dogma I ran from. It is haunting (To) punish the flesh. I do. Be vigilant all times: Awake and serene; Awake and sublime. A light to a world now gone. Emptiness. (The) resonant Omen of (The) temptress Of vice. Emptiness. A psalm That Denies the truth. It’s The fall Of our minds. Sanctimonious. Redemption for Their ancient lies Upon the altar. Unscrupulous. A treacherous Clash of the minds Denying truth. Alight! Bloodhound, the victim I Found alone and bound to The punishment of sin. Wounding in red, regret in black. Before indifference sets in, Before tiredness within sets in, Trinity, Trinity here, Alight! Alight! Bloodhound, blood-bound, which I Found alone and uncrowned (With) Trinity’s violin That calls us in—anguish within.
Thy soul shall find itself alone ’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone— Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness—for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee—and their will Shall overshadow thee: be still. The night, tho’ clear, shall frown— And the stars shall look not down From their high thrones in the heaven, With light like Hope to mortals given— But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne’er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more—like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze—the breath of God—is still— And the mist upon the hill, Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token— How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries!
Wait! Cast your doubts aside For you have stumbled for too long. It is time for a new day, my people, An empire for the wolves and strong. Cast you doubts aside Under the shadow of dying Ymir. It is time for a new story, my tribe, To be written on the scrolls of Thoth, the scribe. It matters not death and misfortune If we shielded ourselves against doubt. Sing higher the song of Lusitania In our land grieved by drought. Lucifer rising, a comet blazing the sky Cometh forth to light the old empire. And in my right hand, a flaming sword to defy The bull and devourer—Europa’s defiler. Set your eyes at sunrise, Beyond the Tagus flowing in our hearts. Free from dismay and demise, A new renaissance of men and arts. I bring gods enslaved. Divine artefacts to prophesy. At your hands, my sombre people, An empire that none can deny. It matters not howls of holiness If we slain the legion of the dead: Those who blindly follow and chant Their righteousness while leaving a path of dread. While they sleep, we slay While they falter, we burn While they coward, we purvey The fear promised by my return.
There’s no longer a road for you to tread under the gloomy storm of mortality That roars and consumes all flesh and memory. I am but a child before your eyes, now eternal; And your memory, a seed that will blossom from my blood, my flesh, my voice, From all of my actions until I’m devoured by Mother—death, in the solitary cradle of existence. Já não tens mais estrada que percorrer sob a tempestade tétrica da mortalidade Que ruge e consome toda a carne e memória. Sou apenas uma criança perante os teus olhos, agora eternos; E a tua memória uma semente que brotará do meu sangue, da minha carne, da minha voz, De todas as acções até eu próprio ser consumido pela Mãe-morte, no berço solitário da existência.


released April 7, 2019

Recorded, Mixed and Mastered at SPS Studios Azores & UK by Miguel Santos
Artwork by Augusto Peixoto @ IronDoomDesign


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A Dream of Poe Edinburgh, UK

Azorean Doom Metal band


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