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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.

Perhaps

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
https://www.instagram.com/p/CANxPEiJjTA/?igshid=7f8t9e7hke3t

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24.05.2020

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. 

https://youtu.be/1JEYnjKxf4A

#145of366

fregolicotard
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image

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?
Pray—no. 
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!”

OnyxHeart

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