Silvered Shadows from Liminal Rite by Kardashev

“I pulled the golden cornsilk from my hair.
Hand made curtains drew me home.
I am a silvered shadow of old air.
Where I lived now overgrown.”

The Lost Man walks through the cornfield and finds an old willow tree he used to play near as a child. He remembers hiding a small tin box of keepsakes he buried near the base, and painstakingly digs it up. Slumped by the trunk and submerged in the swaying green field, he holds up a small coin that he was once so proud of. It reflects the sun and, for a moment, he remembers why he kept it. He removes another small item - a secret note he wrote and tucked away. Unraveling the decaying page, he suddenly remembers the cloth that he used to tie the small scroll shut. He tore it from his mother’s apron….the apron that she made. Wracked with a sudden sense of longing he stands and looks across the field to his home. A ripped and stained curtain hangs in the window. Something sewn by hand. Back when things were made with care. Back when things mattered. Looking down at his wizened hands he feels the distance as an aching reality. A quick breath - he steels himself with a clenched fist and a sharp breath and makes his way towards the sagging house.

We are a Progressive Death Metal band focusing on themes of technology, selflessness, love, and altruism. Heading the charge toward solidifying the sound of "Deathgaze".

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