5. The Godhook Silence

Should I exalt the ruler-straightened silence,
the cracking fall of temples as they cave?
Praise God who robbed me, beat me into violence,
give thanks for charnel stench, the rot I crave?

Collapse in dust, beneath this crushing lonely,
psalming with screams upon His barbed-hook line,
within a city frozen, lifeless and holy,
where watchful zealots perch on nothing’s spine.

Then only dread the slow decay while breathing,
when votive flames in cathedrals gutter out,
and stained-glass roses bleed their embers, seething—
the saints crawl forth, their scorched limbs twist about.

They twine their fingers tight into my sinew,
the living bells gaze down the drowning ledge,
a step, a slip, and I shall fall within you—
peace or a coffin’s marble past the edge.

For what could wait that’s crueler, more horrendous?
I call your name, but you have gone too far.
“Gloria in excelsis” rings pretentious—
a clapper’s lash, a tongue that splits to scar.

Each nightfall strikes me down in dream’s derision,
half-dead I sprawl across the kneeling floor;
“memento vitae” whisper in collision—
head-first in God’s cold pincers evermore.

4. Transitio mundi

I have come to know the ones who walk away,
I have wept for those whose steps have gone astray.
In the rolling quiet our sentences turn cold,
clothed in pale grief, too fragile to behold.

At those times I longed to be an altar’s sheet,
blood-stained rag that I laid out beneath your feet,
so I could become for you the one I am,
but now all is ended — Good Friday seals my hand.

Crosses in our hands, we drink our grief away,
headlong will we fall into the doomsday fray.
What once was returns, what never was conspires,
a bullet’s burning kiss, the spittle of the fly.

As the final glow fades slowly from our sight,
the crafted temple arch collapses in the night.
You’ll be filled alone, yet I am cast away,
the branches may vanish, the fire’s left to stay.

Cast aside I stand, a jester far too small,
a woeful stain upon the weeping skyey wall.
Skylines in my hand, I release you in pain,
I entomb you still and mourn you once again.

3. The Parchment Night

Like all the rest, you too will learn to forget,
when spring sets in with hail and thawing wet.
You’ll trickle from my face, from parchment night,
while all the world laughs green and bursts with light.

Vanitas vanitatum dixit Ecclesiastes,
Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas.

You won’t recall the solitude we shared,
how heaven’s buttressed ramparts split and bared;
we were the breadth of splintering creation,
we were awareness and a burning oblation.

Upon God’s altar lay the fractured host,
one substance in two bodies, darkening to ghost;
with fingers interlaced we burned, hand into hand,
I scarred myself to you—we two were one, one brand.

A masquerade within the halls of God;
snow drifts on us, our buckling shoulders nod.
Winter again; the stroke of midnight’s dread—
upon this earth, the ghosts go forth and tread.

2. Blood-Sealed Solitude

In the blackened silence do I learn to see,
The stigma marked on sleepless foreheads deep,
A brimming cup of life pours down on me,
We drift through velvet in the night’s dark sweep.


Betrayed at dawn by weeping, golden light,
In holy-painted fields we lost our way,
And angels tread the frost on plains of white,
Where fate’s dim shimmer rises into day.

Exile entwines us, binding chain to chain,
In strangers’ temples we are the cornerstone,
Unworthy still of mercy for our pain—
Tears are the gift of pure and brave alone.

At last, within each other’s solitude,
At last, with blood, we seal our interlude.

1. Gaslight Elegy

The streets lie somber, silence softly spreads,
between the houses drift the shadowed dead.
Their spectral bodies on the firewalls sprawl,
beneath the gaslight’s dim, funereal pall.

The shadows sweep in long nocturnal rows,
this papier-mâché town in stillness grows.
House silhouettes — a temple’s rigid frame,
burn vaulted scars into the eyes again.

A memory-book, its stanzas etched in glass,
where tear-streaked lives across the pavements pass.
In one brief glance I’m seized and drawn inside,
entombed in grief where fleeting phantoms hide.

For I could vanish, having now believed,
that life still blooms where archways half-conceived.
Beneath the paint, her melting face unveiled —
it finds me, takes me, buries me, ensnared.

The Search for What Endures – The Road to a Credo

The philosophical journey of Evanescent Horizons unfolds through a series of increasingly deeper questions.

  1. It begins with a personal one: “What does one do with love when there is nowhere left to direct it?”
  2. As the story progresses, this gives way to a broader question: “Does love retain its value when it is not reciprocated?”
  3. From there, the album expands beyond the realm of relationships altogether: “Are there things whose worth exists independently of recognition, usefulness, success, or reward?”
  4. And finally, it arrives at its deepest question: “Is there any value that is eternal?”

The album does not attempt to prove its answer philosophically. Instead, it tells the story of a man who gradually comes to live as though the answer is yes.

He loses what he loves. He loses the future he imagined. He never receives the fulfillment he hoped for. Yet he ultimately discovers that genuine love is not validated by acceptance, nor diminished by rejection. Its worth does not depend on what it achieves.

By the end of the album, this realization becomes a conviction. The protagonist chooses to believe that love possesses an intrinsic value that transcends success and failure, life and death. The final answer of Evanescent Horizons is therefore not a logical conclusion, but a credo:

“If there is anything eternal in human existence, it is love itself.”

A Window Between Loss and Hope – The Cover Art of Evanescent Horizons

The cover artwork of Evanescent Horizons may seem somewhat unusual at first glance, but it reflects many of the album’s central themes. The photograph itself – as with all visuals accompanying Evanescent Horizons – was taken by my talented friend, photographer Dávid Ujhelyi. His remarkable eye for atmosphere and detail helped bring the album’s visual world to life.

The decaying industrial setting serves as a reminder of transience, deterioration, and the inevitable passing of all things. In many ways, it represents the point from which the album begins: the confrontation with loss, impermanence, and the realization that what we love cannot always be preserved.

At the center stands a blue female figure whose presence intentionally echoes the cover of Horror Sacri. There, a similarly colored figure represented the Virgin Mary and reflected that album’s focus on the sacred and the transcendent. Here, however, the figure is simply an ordinary human being. She is naked, vulnerable, and her face is deliberately concealed. By removing her individual identity, the image suggests that the story told on Evanescent Horizons is not about one specific person, but about something universal. The woman becomes a symbol rather than a portrait.

The title itself points in two directions. The horizons are behind us as much as they are ahead. The blue figure establishes a visual connection to the previous album, looking back toward themes and questions that have accompanied Darkwave for years. At the same time, the image opens a path toward something new. Perhaps the most important element of the cover is the window. It stands between the decaying interior and the bright world beyond. In many ways, it represents a threshold: the place where loss, memory, and mortality encounter hope. Beyond the rusted frame there is only light. We cannot see what lies within it, nor does the image attempt to provide certainty. The horizon remains hidden. Yet its presence is unmistakable. For me, that light symbolizes hope: not as a guarantee, but as a possibility. Not as an answer, but as a direction.

The album ultimately arrives at a similar place. It does not eliminate loss, nor does it deny decay. It does not claim to possess final answers. Instead, it asks whether something meaningful can endure despite them. The bright horizon beyond the broken window remains unseen, but it is there nonetheless. In that sense, the cover artwork mirrors the album’s final realization: we may never fully see what lies beyond the horizon, yet we can still choose to walk toward the light.

You can also listen to the album here: 🔗 https://darkwave-metal.bandcamp.com/album/evanescent-horizons

Evanescent Horizons is now available for pre-order on Bandcamp

I have spent months living with these songs. Writing them. Rewriting them. Recording them. Questioning them. Trying to make them say exactly what I wanted them to say.

On the surface, this album tells the story of loss. At a deeper level, it asks a question that refused to leave me alone: “Are there things whose value remains intact even when they seem to achieve nothing?” That question became the heart of Evanescent Horizons.

The album will be released on July 15th, but if you pre-order it now, one track will be instantly available.Thank you for listening and thank you for walking this road with me.

🔗 https://darkwave-metal.bandcamp.com/album/evanescent-horizons

What Remains When Nothing Remains? — A Journey That Became an Album

For the past months, I have lived with an album.

Not merely worked on it – lived with it. What began as a collection of songs gradually became something much more personal: a journey through hope, loss, grief, anger, acceptance, and the search for meaning beyond them all.

I am happy to finally announce that my new Darkwave album, Evanescent Horizons, will be released on July 15th.

Musically, it is a blend of progressive and symphonic metal, enriched by orchestral arrangements, church organ, neoclassical influences, thrash and death metal elements, and a few unexpected detours along the way. At its heart, however, the album asks a simple question: “Are there things whose value remains intact even when they seem to achieve nothing?” That question became the thread connecting all eleven songs.

Evanescent Horizons is, however, not ultimately about loss and grief. It is about refusing to believe that love, kindness, loyalty, and sacrifice are valuable only when they succeed. At its heart lies the conviction that some things possess an intrinsic worth independent of recognition, reward, or outcome. The protagonist loses everything he once believed he needed, yet discovers that love remains meaningful nonetheless. In the end, the album is less a tragedy than a credo: a testament to the belief that some truths—and above all, love itself—endure even when everything else fades away.

Whether many people hear it or only a few, I know that this album represents the most honest expression of what I wanted to say at this point in my life.

I look forward to sharing it with you on July 15th.

More Than an Album

For the past months, I have spent countless hours working on a new Darkwave album. Writing, arranging, recording, re-recording, mixing, doubting, rewriting, and starting over. As I am finally approaching the finish line, I find myself reflecting on what this album truly means to me.

The songs themselves are new, but their roots are much older. Most of the lyrics began their lives as poems, written long before the music existed. They were born from loss, grief, anger, love, memories, and the slow process of learning how to let go. Turning them into songs of a concept album was not simply a matter of fitting words to riffs and melodies. It meant reshaping deeply personal texts so they could live and breathe within the language of metal music without losing their original meaning.

Throughout this process, I gradually realized that this album had become something more than a collection of songs.

It became a personal statement.

A testament to what I believe about the ultimate meaning of love in its broadest sense, loss, memory, and the human capacity to endure and to create meaning that transcends our mortal reality. It tells the story of descending from joy and hope into darkness, confronting pain, rage, despair, and the overwhelming weight of absence. Yet at its core, it is not a story about defeat. It is a story about learning to live with what cannot be changed, carrying memories that never truly fade, and discovering that acceptance does not mean forgetting. Some wounds remain with us forever, but over time they cease to define us. We learn to carry them differently, and in doing so, we find a way forward without betraying what we have lost. Throughout this journey, we gradually discover a deeper meaning that extends beyond our finite lives.

Perhaps the deepest question running through the entire album is whether selfless love (and by “love” I mean the original, broader sense of the word that encompasses all forms of altruism, not merely romantic affection) possesses an intrinsic value independent of its usefulness, recognition, or reception. Whether devotion, loyalty, sacrifice, and compassion carry meaning beyond reward or even acknowledgment. I have come to believe that they do. That genuine love is not validated by acceptance, nor diminished by rejection. Its worth does not depend on whether it is reciprocated, understood, or even remembered.

The story reaches its conclusion not through triumph, but through transcendence. The protagonist ultimately accepts his own mortality, yet the love that shaped his journey does not disappear with him. It endures beyond loss, beyond failure, beyond death itself.

The path toward that conclusion is far from peaceful. There are moments of fury on this album. There are moments of sorrow. There are moments when everything seems broken beyond repair. Yet I never wanted the final message to be one of hopelessness and meaninglessness. If there is a final message hidden within these songs, it is the belief that love possesses an intrinsic value that exists independently of human judgment. It remains real even when unanswered, meaningful even when unseen, and lasting even when everything else fades away.

I do not know how this album will be received. I did not create it to chase trends, algorithms, or commercial success. I created it because I felt compelled to. Because some stories demand to be told, and some emotions refuse to stay silent. Whether many people hear it or only a few, I can honestly say that I gave it everything I had.

This album is not merely music.

It is my personal credo.