album cover
Obsidian Despair
Metal
Obsidian Despair was released on January 12, 2026 by Eklipse as a part of the album Introspection
album cover
Release DateJanuary 12, 2026
LabelEklipse
LanguageEnglish
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM139

Music Video

Music Video

Lyrics

That’s it, there it is. Only myself and me,
And lots more of what can I see.
  Face the unknown, the unseen,
Trail of ashes divine,
Memory of what is in life and what’s in between.
Confusion and wide bland perdition,
Shadows and far less,
Debris this dark transition,
More scared of the things I know than the ones I saw.
You need to Pray to be a prey,
As eyes believe betrayal.
 
I can feel the presence, nowhere to be found.
Shivering mind and blistered thought,
Written paper to be forgotten
Alienist of perversion, conspiracy
Senseful belief into minority,
Ready to be devoured from inside,
As seen in those reflections of me,
Turning a little pile of pain
Into fierce fear infection
 
And the trail of me,
Hunting again the opaque truth,
Focuses on dusty shapes
I don’t believe them.
Distorted figure staring at me
Obsidian pile of misery
Of misery…
Obsidian despair.
 
Vibrating branch, mistakes wrought
Carved symbols on every single spot
Craftsman of fear, dreadbringer is here
Street cold with ashes and bleak winter.
And his distortions interfere with the frame,
As a spider with cruelty his victims claim
Drawing a straight bow of motion
Into a messy spasm  
 
Shapeless arm is filled with black sound; it flowers.
Into the visage of a thousand eyes, it towers. 
Figure lies,
Consumed by the messenger hound,
At the end, pale leaves crown
The wretched mind that drowns.
 
‘Cause nothing hurts more than certainties.
 
Just me, nobody,
Not even my shadow
On the shattered concrete.
 
Face what I know, what I’ve seen, and leave them behind,
Memories of what was my life and all that I lived.
It lies in a gray desolation,
Blades made of dryness, the cradle of feeling’s extinction,
More scared of what I could be than of what I’ve been,
Stretching my arms and scraping the soil.
There is not anything tangible 
By which life was spoilt.
Written by: Filippo Travani
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