The Myrrors
Arena Negra

"A dark sweet dream"

A slow nocturnal procession in a cold desert, completely unaware of the final destination of our wandering.

The pale friendly face of the moon. Silence. The heavy steps in the sand like a solemn bass mark the march. A distant song, the voice of a guitar, make the sense of solitude weigh less, they caress us, almost take us by the hand, accompany us for a short stretch, making the darkness shimmer with faint light, indicating the way.

The sweet sound of a flute reassures us. We close our eyes, time could stop.

But we must continue

The step is heavier, a sweet evocative lullaby accompanies us. We would like to stop, let go, be lulled.

But we must continue

The step is even heavier, we feel it in the night. The heartbeat increases, its pulsating hypnotizes, marks the procession.

The tranquility abandons us. In the unreal darkness, the presence of a skeletal macabre brass band envelops us with cold through its sinister dissonances. We would like to close our eyes, not hear that funereal yet enchanting march.

But we must continue.

A reassuring song restores our serenity, perhaps the path is not so unsettling, indeed, upon closer inspection, it is a sweet unease. A sweet tension, in the end, we hope it lasts.

On ever heavier steps we follow the guiding voice, which flies over the sinister yet now sweet friendly distortions of a solitary guitar that illuminates the black mantle that surrounds us.

Perhaps our dreamlike procession has reached its destination.

The step becomes lighter. Slowly, like a tide, the notes of the sinister brass band rise, voices. A babel of sounds envelops us. The atmosphere is heavy, electrically pounding.

Last explosion of sensations before the mysterious goal of our wandering.

Arena Negra