Tales From The Inverted Womb

Alas, let me tell you about the beauty of the tomb: the

stained glass, all viole(n)t, enhancing the gloom. Dark

flowers, all withered, fragile and old, yet, their

perfume still lingers like a secret untold. Like a dream,

or a memory that floats in this vault, waiting for the

moment it shall be recalled by some visitor, maybe, who

is seeking release from a strange kind of sadness, some

unknown disease. Its symptoms are madness, caused by the

music in his head, sung by an endless choir, called:

"the Voices of the Dead".

It's his longing for silence, for the absence of sound,

that will lead him the hidden path below the ground.

Where he shall discover, though terror and fear, behind

black iron doors .... something is sleeping here: a

little dead baby, a young boy lies kept, as fragile and

frightened, crippled and sad...