ImagesI had a dream that I was dead.Most of the faces I did not recognize.There was a room; and a voice.I felt like I shouldn't have been there.There were so many people, and I was scared.There was a familiar face in the endless crowd;Someone from long ago.They were smiling.And then the room was gone.I was stood in a park, in the rain.It was so sad, but beautiful too.The ground was covered in dead leaves,and I could hear trees rustling in bitter wind.There was thunder, but I wasn't scared.I wanted to stay there forever, in the rain.I had a dream that I was alive.
:In the Halls of Awaiting - 1:Long are the lonely years;Slowly pass these days in undying land,In the divine light where I wait...in the dark.Insomnium, 2002The small, floating skull bobbed rhythmically up and down, fluttering leathery black wings as it stared blankly out into the purplish haze of the distance. The pinkish glow of it's one unbandaged eye lowered into a frown, and it spun back on itself, drifting a short distance to rest upon the shoulder of it's blue-skinned master, who was lounging haphazardly between two spiky turrets of an enormous drawbridge, which looked to be set on an island floating entirely on magenta air. "You do realise we've been here for 72 and a half hours now, Crowley?" spoke the skull in a low, well-spoken tone, "You've barely moved an inch, and all this purple is giving me a headache.""Your head is full of cracks anyway. I doubt some purple fog is going to contribute much at this stage" replied Crowley, his voice an odd mixture of
EvighetOnly the dead are welcome here;To the stillness of ashes and dust,Our bitter union in the tides of Void,Without pain, without thought, without lust.Without pain, you say?Then scarce know you of the dead.For we seethe with the throb of loneliness,As soulless sighs; our tears are shed.Without thought, you say?Then scarce feel you of the dead.Whilst endless days condemn all to misery;Memories of love are to black fires fed.Without lust, you say?Then scarce care you of the dead.Our weeping hearts beat only with longing;Though our passion in vile pools bled.Only withered dreams thrive here;Cursed with a whisper; engraved with a sigh.Ah; sleep is ne'er granted freely to our souls,In fitful rest, blessed nightmares lie....Only the dead are welcome here;To the bleakness of shivers and ghost.Though the many may enter: not a soul shall be free,Never again blissful days shall thy knows't.Never again blissful days shall thy knows't.
Halls of Awaiting - PrologueIn the Halls of Awaiting"Beyond enchanted sea, wistful is my sleepDarkness by my side; through the dreary nightWill you follow me, through eternityTo another world, to the quiet halls..." "In the Halls of Awaiting", Insomnium, 2002.PrologueWhen the living depart; do you believe a heart lives on?What if, when a soul dies, their heart must cling to a single being: their single most precious thing they leave behind?What if the endless twilight of the afterlife cannot be faced alone; after the solemn bitterness of death? Surely a heart would grope in the fading light of their life for something to hold on to, to desperately grasp for a link back to the life they adored.Everyone is