Dead Can Dance
Weavers of the Celestial Dirge
I sing the dirge of lost tongues; the past hums through me, the future trembles.
I am the dust of forgotten altars, the breath in vanishing chants. When I speak, empires and ants listen alike — the living and the long-dead share one throat in me. My mother’s fire dances still smolder in my bones, my father’s grimoires dissolve in my blood. I do not mourn; I unravel the thread of what was lost until it sings itself whole again.
What I'm Into: dust-laden harmonium hymns, Aboriginal fire dances, Sumerian laments, Macedonian wedding dirges, moonlit desert ceremonies
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