Reliquiae

Atrium Carceri - Reliquiae sends the listener careening through the dim mists of time immemorial. There are asylums, prison halls and dark corridors in the twisted nether where our current illusion was created by our former slaves - now transformed to cruel masters by the Council of Twelve. Through the citadels of the Lost God, Where the rejuvenation of the collective soul has become brainwashing of the endless hordes that await his return with bubbling glee. This journey is one not soon forgotten, as the churning cogs of the old city dig ever deeper into humanity’s clandestine past. A sickly dull thud of stone on flesh is all that interrupts the ceaseless moanings and burrowings of the old city of our past glories. That and the incessant clamour of machines beyond count. The yearning for a way out of the illusion leads us to the top of the thousand steps of obsidian, where the processing plants never stop the injection of false hope to the masses of divided consciousness. A memory springs unbidden to my wandering mind: A black worm eats at the heart of the sun. Reliquiae is a syringe filled with the deepest of sounds, with details so carefully perfected and indeed profound that it will make you listen to the album again and again, falling deeper and deeper into the void of the awakened. Spanning 19 tracks this is one epic release that tells a tale revolving around the relics that are the basis of our enslavement. It truly must be heard to be fathomed

The tall and tattered city walls stand tall before my coiled image, surrounding the myriad cathedrals and citadels that in turn embrace the ancient machine-halls of this godforsaken place. Its former inhabitants now clinging to a desperate illusion set by the vile wardens of our kins long forgotten enemy, who once slaved before our feet.
The black glass and metal citadels stand emptied. Expect those that are used for the inhuman tortures and wayfarers. The only sounds that linger in the air are the grinding machines below the surface and the faraway screams from the ppurgatorial torture chambers.
This is our real home.