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I would weep for humanity were I able, but I am not.

The sobbing in my soul and bleeding of my heart means that there are no tears left to flow from my eyes.

Or perhaps I am soulless. Perhaps I am heartless. Perhaps that is why I ache at an emptiness inside. Perhaps that is why I rub at scratchy, dry, dry eyes, stinging with the inability to cry.

The world is broken.


So am I

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This one has been a long time coming!
Paradise, from our first album Melancholia , unplugged and stripped down.
The full video you can find either on our youtube channel @heterochromeband .

@arashrezaeimusic as always, so much fun working with you on music! Just really miss doing it in the same continent!:)) Director and Editor: @mani_h_zonoozi
Special thanks to @2bsadaf for all of your support and helping me with the videos! You are an angel!
Enjoy, everyone! And share the video if you!
#Paradise #Heterochrome #Melancholia #Metal #Music #Unplugged #ProgressiveMetal #MusicVideo #femalefrontedband

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This has been absolutely insane. A thick layer of hail was covering the ground and some parts of the road. At the same time, a wave of fog was slowly crawling across the lands. I kept thinking of Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.


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Dear Melancholia,

Pour me another amber glass

So I can maintain the Belief Art

Is not dangling from the gallows

In the Common Man’s square along-

Side her sister Romanticism.


My dear, dear Melancholia,

Pour me another amber glass

And tell me if the Portrait has

Changed into something fascinating

And mind that even the monstrous

Can be beautiful.


Dear Melancholia,

Pour me another amber glass

And let me tell you about the

Objectivity of ever-fleeting Love

And the boy I perhaps loved the most

Yet have killed with Arrogance.


My dear, dear Melancholia,

Pour me another amber glass

So I can float further down into

Byronic dreams filled with the

Happiness the rotten dwelling mutt

By the name of Stupidity murdered.


Dear Melancholia,

Why can you not pour

Me another amber glass

So I might forget these

Twenty-one years of living

In a time that was never mine?


My dear, dear Melancholia,

If you cannot pour me

Another amber glass then

Smash the bottle and pick

The sharpest shard to ruin

My painted sinful Mask.


My dear, Melancholia,

You could not pour me

Another amber glass

Yet grand Me the greatest

Silent Freedom if You 

Finish what you started.


My Melancholia,

No amber glass can be

As wholesome as the carefree

Passage You have given me

So there is no need to cry

For this is better than the gallows.


Dear Artist,

My dearest of dearest, I

See You blissfully breathe

No more in this blasted Age

Where the Modern Mind reigns

As a blind companion to Stupidity.


My dear, dear Artist,

For Us, it is over

And the bottle is empty,

But I promise We will

See each other again in

Paint and a Young Man.


Requiescat in pace.

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I have none whom to pray.
You, my love, should have celestial warriors,
if they were to be true, fighting for you,
blessing you—no.
Blessing—I cannot make use of the word; 
it is religious, and I am not religious. 
O beloved, how do I pray for you?
How do I beg all good to come to you?
How do I will all black rain
against crying on your doorstep?
I cannot plea to the heavens for you.
I would, my love, but they are not listening.
All I can do is whisper before I sleep,
kneeling before Death, 
“Take love to him. He is loved!”


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