In forest dark at moors they come to life…

If I was to win 10000 dinars I would not have been happy as I am now.

Empyrium are back

“On September 17, 2010, Prophecy Productions and Schwadorf personally announced that the band had reunited and revealed plans to release a new album soon, beside contributing to the label’s upcoming v/a compilation Whom The Moon A Nightsong Sings.[1]
We are incredibly happy to announce that EMPYRIUM, the most renowned Prophecy act ever, has decided to reunite and to record new music! Here’s the official statement of Schwadorf on the reunion: Since the rumours start to spread we think it’s about time to make this official: EMPYRIUM is alive again! Our first new sign of life will be the song ‘The Days Before The Fall’ on the Prophecy Prod. compilation ‘Whom The Moon A Nightsong Sings’ but we have plans for more! The spirit is back and it really feels right to us to start writing songs with EMPYRIUM again. We are not in a rush though so don’t expect a full lenght today or tomorrow but we have the patience and faith to make this new songs outstanding and unique. Just as EMPYRIUM ever was….”

Empyrium, the band that literally shaped my character, thus the moniker Doomish
everlasting words from Empyrium:

O lust and rueful thought be mine,
My soul enhanced, desires…
Melancholy.
My heart is thine.

At the horizon the dark stormclouds of sorrow have gathered their might,
neither the moon nor the stars reveal their light this night
..and rain is falling, pouring down into my soul,
while wild weeping clouds enwrapp me in their woe

Before my eyes nocturnal curtains fall,
The dark and gentle haze of the night, greedily devours all.

The Night:
“Woe to him whose heart is filled with bitter rue and who drowns in grief”

Just I and the poetry of the night, now forever one,
The ensemble of silence plays so beautiful for me…

When through the starry night
the mists of autumn glide
the air is filled with tragedies of olden times
Where with a dreadful tone
a nightbird plays its song
in forest dark at moors they come to life…

A bed of moss was granted,
she laid down with a sigh,
Embraced by the green blankets
she kissed the world goodbye

Bes till, O wand’rer!
Dost thou not hear the sad song of night?
How the wind does beckon thee to the rest of a while
and to lend him thine ear?
What woeful tale does it tell tonight?
What tragedy of old?

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