Northern Gate

"We embrace like two lovers at death
A monument to the trapping of breath
As restriction is bled from the veins of my neck
To drop roses on my marbled breast
I lust for the wind and the flurry of leaves
And the perfume of flesh on the murderous breeze
To learn from the dark and the voices between..."

Nuova Brigata Blasfema: Ancella futura che le divinità tritura

"non sapevo facessero pile di merda alte 1.40" (Srg. Hartman)

"non sapevo facessero pile di merda alte 1.40" (Srg. Hartman)

Northern Gate

"We embrace like two lovers at death
A monument to the trapping of breath
As restriction is bled from the veins of my neck
To drop roses on my marbled breast
I lust for the wind and the flurry of leaves
And the perfume of flesh on the murderous breeze
To learn from the dark and the voices between..."

Nuova Brigata Blasfema: Ancella futura che le divinità tritura

This is my bass. There are many like it but this one is mine. My bass is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my bass is useless. Without my bass I am useless. I must know all there is to know about my bass. I must play my bass 'true'.... I will.

Before God I swear this creed: my bass and myself are the defenders of my music, we are the masters of our 'sound', we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is nothing but harmony and peace. Amen

"non sapevo facessero pile di merda alte 1.40" (Srg. Hartman)

"non sapevo facessero pile di merda alte 1.40" (Srg. Hartman)