Review Summary: The sun is setting - Mountains on fire... We're so alone here - Don't go far.7 of 8 thought this review was well written“But in the darkness he holds his son /He's all that's left, the only one “
There’s still no help for the mighty ones ….SubRosa certainly entered a focused state of worship on their debut album. The opening key is Doom, slowly take it. Whether for many reasons doom can be dark, call it a “feeling“, purpose, objective or music genre; it also functions as a relieving mantra. No Help For The mighty Ones
swallows a mind, experimenting with the darkest states of lucid consciousness; opens the head, extirpating all positive auras contained. It proceeds separating one’s soul from the earth and sky. For SubRosa It is just a matter of time for how long the cult takes to become perfect, and one day when she becomes a bird in flight, you might remember. Once opening the door, you are dragged into the despair beyond…
Already inside your borrowed time is short just as your borrowed eyes are.. The view is horrid, like a desert filled with dry blood, desolation follows your shadow. A gentle demon starts talking to you, she says “No love & no hope… No God left here” and as a warning she also talks about the prohibited valley but ye’ don’t listen. A guitar is accompanied by a mournful violin leading the way, the hundreds of years traveling, asking yourself “how much must my journey go” “how much sorrow, no one knows?”. Don’t you felt a sublime hope though, sublime it was…The overwhelming negative forces fertilized the haunted wasteland leaving a dark seducing path. Days in, day out proceeds.. The trail is full of dust, this dust seems to be eroded; dry petroleum. Your footsteps left a mark on the ancient roads. Breathable air is nowhere to be found, a thick methane atmosphere slowly perforates your lungs, you know the end is near, however; you still have hope.
“One look in her eyes / Full of knowledge and pain
Oh, my pack of lies / Melted fast as my alibis “
Moments later for your luck, a light calls you in the distant horizon. So the hours pass, days, a week, an entire month… You are almost there, but who cares? Your heart is full of nothingness, there’s no pride to be forged across the land; nihil. Advancing you find a temple, there is a man inside… “maybe it is a demon”- you wonder. He wears a dark crown, deep inside all colors shine and this psychotic hellhole seems to torn asunder. So you silently approach him and talk to him.
Where am I, why is this happening to me; am I evil?- Thou ask
You ask me? -He responds
Yes I do, what is this - Desperately demanding
You’re on your inner mind’s obscure dimension, what else… such a cryptic aberration - He responds
Give me your crown - Asking
What?; this (holds the crown) / take it, means nothin’ to me.
So you take the crown, yet another error… beneath the crown lies another chaotic order of progressive thoughts; and what you thought dark gets darker. This time it only takes you a few seconds to realize you are more or less death. A rotten lake stands along the partially appreciated horrid ground, a vicious environment in which light had been buried long ago. The methane intoxicated H20 fluid equilibrium excerpts a vigorous pressure of equal intensity through all directions, this vessel shaped putrefied landscape is just crumbling: physically, metaphysically and emotionally. As this are your final moments you start meditating about your life, the redundant days, the longing for better tomorrows, the hate that grew and became part of you. All of a sudden you realize something, this is actually what you created, the last hours of eternity that you could have enjoyed; rather than that your imagination destroyed it all, you’ve failed.
Taking your last corrosive breath, you say goodbye to nobody; as light have disappeared there is nothing more, “let me just disappear in the shadows…. Embracing this hollow heart” drowning in the pool of sorrows, the peril transcends your body; you are now punished by the inheritance. You metaphysically carve a spell in a stone, it leaves the pieces of your soul behind. Looking for a natural medium you run into the woods of desolation, spellbounding the golden mountains and remembering everyday about the story someone told you, about the marriage of that house carpenter. The mountains, though; remain haunted, and this is a very dark country…
No one ever sees the puppet strings / No one ever sees the dark country
I know you're coming for me now .No one ever feels The heavy weight of lies revealed / The burning towns, the burning fields
Haunting words said on the most positive sections. Imperfect perfections made Subrosa's sophomore a doom metal masterpiece; you close the door and die. Time kills unread best intents…. There is no help for the mighty ones but only a hell that shined on their darkened sepulchers.
What are those hills yonder, my love / They look as white as snow
Those are the hills of heaven, my love / That you and will never know