APOCALYPTIC HETERODOX BLACK METAL.
Set within the reverie of a devil-worshipper, it is a cracked looking glass, mirroring a multitude of renderings of the same visceral fantasy: the end of the world. It is a silent prayer for fiery, dissolutive rain. It is a drunken siren song beckoning the world to the bosom of DEATH.
Seeping with satanic hubris, yet laced with a subtle despair over the doubt that the End might not, after all, be the the aesthete’s glorious Omega affair… But perhaps a creeping, sickly thing, labouring under the yoke of cyclic necessity. That eschatons might come and go.