Crypt Of Demons

by Abysmal Growls Of Despair



This album is a collaboration between Atraxura and Hangsvart.
Atraxura has written all lyrics, and made all artworks.
Hangsvart has made all musics, and voices.
With the download you have all lyrics in PDF and all photos in JPEG.

You can follow the wonderful work of Atraxura in these links :

Three acoustic horns were used, all drums are VSTi, Choirs are VSTi.
Guttural voices, growls, kargyraa, were made by Hangsvart, no fx, or just a reverb.


released February 24, 2017

Atraxura, Hangsvart.



all rights reserved


Abysmal Growls Of Despair France

" It's just so overwhelming that it overtakes you and, like I said, a few times I had to switch it off to take a breath and escape the suffocating grip this yields on the body and spirit. "

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Track Name: The Basement Years
There is nothing.
... and there is no one.
... and all maggot October
I lay on the dirt floor,
face down, asphyxiating
amidst the dead earth's ugliest creatures,
writhing in the atramentous ashes
of what once was blood.

With a funereal docility,
I accepted my own burial ...
as it has been so black here, for so long. ...
Aphotic visions fade to pure oblivion.
We long to eat each other, them and I. ...
because there is no one. ...
and there is nothing. ...
and there is no solace
in this desolate, forsaken land.

The agonies of starvation
come and go, like the missing days
and nights, ever more painful than before.
... tormented
by memories of light and dreams
of the unattainable life outside,
my desperate psyche finally
caved in and devoured itself.

... and the ravenous worms entwined
around my spine to haste the inevitable

... to work their infernal alchemies.
Track Name: Dark Corner
This life makes me long for Hell --
did I bring this torment upon myself?
Desperation more than blinds.
I carved out my eyes
and placed them on the wrong altar,
a fruitless sacrifice. It's not a flesh wound
that bled the sable tears of Acheron.
It will damn me to all I ever longed for ...
damn me to Xura -- the void within,
where the long empty days silently fade
into cold black years, and existence
slowly congelates into a hiemal eternity.
The glacier, internalized, that place
to which all roads and rivers lead ...
eventually ...

... that nocturnal realm where
the stars have long since drowned
and caved in upon themselves ...
their spectral fires blaze,
inverted and black,
draining the realm of light.
The sky screams in constant agony
as it attempts to rip itself apart.
It bleeds hiemal streams
of perpetual sorrow;
they flood the blackened earth,
snuffing the vitae
from all that they touch.
A melancholy chill lingers
in the dismal harbor
where the shadowy waters collect ...
infinity's hell-black depths.
Track Name: The Diabolical Apex
The caliginous night hangs like a shroud,
a shadow-hoard of moribund souls
and mortal stars long-extinguished.

The deceased never sleep. ...
and in this corporeal perdition,
amicable dreams are forbidden.

I stare unblinking, into the void
as the ashes of extinguished aspirations
drift wearily through my cobwebbed cerebellum.

I have been submerged for so long,
in the decrepit ruins of my cadaverous mind,
that the worms that ate me, themselves, have died.
... and the stagnant waters that once suffocated
my desires for resurrection, have evaporated.
The shadows now hold my chains in open hands.

A malefic ray breaks through the moth-holes. --
In Serpens' unhallowed light, my arid eyes ignite,
The frostbite fades in the wake of the inferno.
the agonizing rush of reawakened blood
enters my carrion veins. ...
and the fiend they tried to exorcise, rises.

The shadows tell me to lie down.
... be quiet.
... stay dead.
... and drink my formaldehyde.
and they'll bring flowers
to adorn my grave,
in all the colors
I never knew in life.
... won't that be nice?

Then they push the lids over my eyes,
lock the casket, drive the nails in place
and lay me to rest in my solitary hellscape.
... but somewhere in the nebulous depths of my mind,
an impious litany echoes -- a perpetual invocation
to the diabolical apex of darkness,
the most inverted of conflagrations. --
the hell-black lightening that could
incinerate this pernicious cycle of re-interment.
Track Name: A Chronicle Of Demoniacal Metamorphosis
I. Portals to Oblivion

In the beginning there was a plague,
summoned from the malignant pages
of the most execrable of books. --
bound in flesh, written with blood,
each letter is infused with pestilence,
every word is a wormhole to a curse.

In the middle there was a conflagration,
the crematory rites for human-kind.
From their ashes, a cimmerian nebulae rose
and engulfed the goat-forsaken fields
of the devil's dead earth.
a shroud woven by forty-two shadows,
contrived to snuff the light
with the charnel stench of their devotion. ...

I've suffocated and died a thousand times,
trying not to inhale the dust of that dead aurora,
throughout a somber procession of incarnations,
crepuscular visions I never considered "lives" --
but intervals of asphyxiation on a six-spoke rotar.

... and the severed hearts still slither,
gangrenous, in the pool of dead blood.
Fools sacrifice in futility ...
then say it's my athame through their valves.
Time alone heals nothing. The incorporeal scars
fester beyond the confines of infinity
like the eidolon stars that unravel
the cosmos, invert existence ...
portals into oblivion.

... and therein lies the end, where non-existence
reaches its black culmination, the inverse
zenith of desolation. ...

II. Dying Embers of the Final Twilight

The worms mutated as the dead phosphorescence dimmed,
morphing into grotesque forms as they ate their way
through the forgotten corridors of my mind,
opening doors for the devil, six inverted eyes,
windows to Serpens' unholy light, the venom of gods ...
a torch to the shroud; all the filaments
of my artificial existence turned to cinders. ...
I gazed upon those forsaken conflagrations
as the spectral embers of that final twilight faded.

The stygian sea disgorged its serpents;
cthonian currents rose with the hydra,
disintegrating the sepulchral towers
of the impaled, staining the heavens
with the lustrous blood of the seraphim.
Enochian screams of mortal anguish cascaded
into the long-anhydrous veins of mortuary earth,
auguring the return of immemorable gods.

The arachnid flora of a primordial evil
ascended, a charnel garden, their gargoyle hearts
bared to the welkin, secreting the necrotic vapors
of damnation, the sulphrous nepenthe
of the netherworld. ... a balm
to my blackened, bleeding psyche.
I peeled off my skin ... the better to breathe it in,
to let the infernal visions flood my perception.

... in a temple between worlds, a pair of ravens
dine on the charred flesh of angels. ...

III. The Devil's Empyrium

My draconian wings unfolded as I drank
from a dark prism, the lifeblood
of shadows, the last light of fading ghosts,
as their composite annihilation formed my
dark haven, an atramental dimension
where the obsidian cataracts of mist
and flame converge and ascend
to hyper-demonic frequencies,
octaves beyond the comparatively pale,
pestilent planes of colored light. ...
It seems that dreams, like everything,
were forged in this hell-black miasma,
from the aphotic dust of long-dead stars,
from the cinders of mortal souls that have,
in anguish, faded back into the aethers. ...

... in the beginning there was only blood
on the parchment, inverted angles,
a demonic stigmata.