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Sorrow for a Doomed Nation

"Sorrow for a Doomed Nation" (2006 Demo)

1. Escapism
2. Dear and Dead
3. A Life Unlived
4. Solemn
5. Of Torture and Creation
6. A Dream of Her

1. Escapism

My spirit can no longer sustain life:
This drudgery of which I was born into
To suffer in this world
And wallow in the past and presence of eternity

Enslaved to the lecherous gods
Partaking in the incarnadine

Was the purpose of my creation to endure infinite yearning?
To know nothing more than merely existing


O’ your eyes
Those oceans in which to drown
To escape reality

You allow me to escape (into your enrapturing presence)
To find refuge from myself
And let me leave this world behind
Along with all I have ever known:

To know nothing more than merely existing


Are you too just a blasphemer?
A wretch and offspring of your lord
Engorge yourself in your lustful ego
Mindless: zealous to your death
As am I, to escape Identity

Marcus Guerra © 2006

2. Dear and Dead

3. A Life Unlived

Feelings morbidly intertwined
The scars are so deeply embedded
With the transience of time, I watch as my grievances only abound

Unable to cured and set free
Fighting my thoughts ever so desperately
My very existence confounds
As my distaste for life abounds

Through the tormenting silence, reflections of me
Bleeding, dying...

Around me burns a shadow of disgust
Surrounding when I succumb to weakness
And if life is my weakness, who am I to feel?
Any sense of a life lost: A life unlived.

Marcus Guerra © 2005

4. Solemn

This desolation betwixt Autumn
A season of change, albeit change eternal
For as now, life will not from what it was return
As this concludes the ultimate denouement
From now and Forever

This season; which is wrought of stillness...
Where life seems not to flourish or cease
But if this were so, life would be absolute
And as it cannot be, death is the victor

For she has been taken from me
And from this stillness wrought is death embodied of my Love
Now and Forever

Outside this room, there is a serenity pretense
Beneath the shroud, the silhouette of life once known
Outside this room, colorless are the leaves of ashen destiny
Before me now, her pale skin; lifeless
As the caress of an arrogant creator

And still, the natural beauty is eminent of the season
And still, her natural beauty luminescent -- even in death.

Marcus Guerra © 2005

5. Of Torture and Creation

Whilst a thought prevailed as constant as forever
I then fought travail of what presented as Never
Yet the truth that persisted was not that of mine
And the dream which consisted of the loneliness of mind

Was but reality to a dying soul in the absence of time
For eternity swallowed me whole in the essence sublime:

in that my emotions now are nothing new
but the commotion aroused is something I knew
would lead me to this sheer confusion
and would surely dismiss my love as disillusion

And the stain which plagued life was dissolution
thereunto he who swallowed delusion

To blind and to torture the one who sees
the Creation before him; and on his knees
Dreams evermore of the fantasies beknown
to suffer evermore the disease alone

Marcus Guerra © 2006

6. A Dream of Her

So rest now in slumber, for when you awake
The defamation of the spirit will not reside
For that which encumbers thy mind cannot forsake
One who forsakes torment of the reality which died
So long ago, vanquished by lament that cannot be denied

So dream now I of a goddess
Radiant in the wake of the darkness surrounding
Silencing existence; bringing death to the ages at hand
For there is no need to remember, and no desire to continue
Thus within absence she is – and through this I linger eternally (seemingly)
Spellbound by this enigma which reality cannot claim…

But to me in mockery, life reclaims
And the allowance of human folly does proclaim
That I have not the power of dreams to sustain
That I have not the power to forever remain
In the rapture of amnesia: a willful forgetfulness of the existence at hand

And when I awake she is no longer there
And all that I knew of her then was but silence to death
As she never was, nor will she ever be but a perpetual dream
And as she cannot be, the nightmare to which I awake is constant
As she never was; for only can she be a perpetual dream

Nothing more

Marcus Guerra © 2006


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