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…And so, like others before me and like others yet to come, I lost the straight path and found myself in the notorious dark forest.
A circular rustle à-la For Carnation is suffocated by the coils of noise serpents, hissing among the dense foliage of oppressive rhythms.
Yellowish corneas stare at me from the shadow of sulfurous atmospheres, a luciferian minimal exhales black vapors that grip my heart while on a flat rock I see the silhouette of Lustmord drawn.
But it's just an illusion. I will never see the Dark Prince on this record, I only realize that I must kill my vanity.
My pain, my problems are nothing but garbage, just grains of sand on the desolate beach of the world. The castles I build are identical to everyone else's, furnished in the same way and inhabited with equal stolidity.
Dark-wave reminiscences inexorably make their way into the sound, cauterizing my wounds, and, like Oblomov, I wallow complacently in my indolence.
The slender pieces follow one another gently like the fragile hopes of childhood, small paper boats disintegrating in the relentless course of the adult Lethe.
Elastic arpeggios weave webs in which loves never born remain entangled forever, where futile desires are comfortably devoured by the brain's plump arachnids.
“Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate”.
Could it be the solution?
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