The Antidote - Athmospheric Black Gothic Metal

Dragged through filth and rusted skies,
I should’ve perished countless times.
Yet something stirs beneath my skin,
A silent pact I never signed.

Veins run dry, and bones betray,
But still I crawl through ash and clay.
Not faith, not flame, nor mortal tie —
Still something pulls when I would die.

A taste of death —
Denied again.
A breath returns —
Without a name.

It haunts the marrow, clings to breath,
Defies the clutching hands of death.
No shape, no prayer, no guiding code,
Yet holds me fast along the road.

Flesh forgets, the mind decays,
But still I walk decaying days.
I curse the bond, I plead release —
Yet something will not grant me peace.

I begged the fire, I bled the stone,
Still found myself not quite alone.
What watches when the soul turns grey,
And bars the dirt from claiming prey?

It sleeps beneath my every scar,
It hums behind each closing star.
No name, no form, no sacred note —
Yet it remains…
My antidote.