This beatmap was submitted using in-game submission on Dienstag, 2. Januar 2018 at 13:58:00
Artist: Between The Buried And Me
Title: Telos
Tags: progressive metal marathon
BPM: 250
Filesize: 11009kb
Play Time: 09:45
Difficulties Available:
Information: Scores/Beatmap Listing
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07/05/17
She Writes:
I awake to a cold touch. Two arms in four-armed bed. The touch of wind wrapping around me. I'm trying to follow its scent. The scent of isolation. Every door opened, every aspect of our life... gone. Hauling around our memories. Every corner a display of our life. A life I assume will never be the same again. No signs, no clues. A game that I will question until the end. Where have you gone? Was I ever important? The late nights lend ideas, but nothing to gather actual progress.
Years go by. The constant stare. The constant grip inside. Every organ grinding. Every day seems easier until I step back in our box. Boxed in. Surrounded by life, while suffocating inside a poor version of one. Grip the match, set the fire. Don't save a thing.
Rebirth. Reborn. Now this is progress. The black box will reveal only this. I will sit. Sit and wait until not a breath escapes my body. Burning in our box. What did all of this even mean? More objects to represent a status. One we can't even prove. Hide behind what we have taken. You have done this. The memory of me will leave with the ash of lost treasures. Goodbye to you. Goodbye to everything.
Artist: Between The Buried And Me
Title: Telos
Tags: progressive metal marathon
BPM: 250
Filesize: 11009kb
Play Time: 09:45
Difficulties Available:
- Reborn - 4Key (4,58 stars, 6870 notes)
Information: Scores/Beatmap Listing
---------------
07/05/17
I awake to a cold touch. Two arms in four-armed bed. The touch of wind wrapping around me. I'm trying to follow its scent. The scent of isolation. Every door opened, every aspect of our life... gone. Hauling around our memories. Every corner a display of our life. A life I assume will never be the same again. No signs, no clues. A game that I will question until the end. Where have you gone? Was I ever important? The late nights lend ideas, but nothing to gather actual progress.
Years go by. The constant stare. The constant grip inside. Every organ grinding. Every day seems easier until I step back in our box. Boxed in. Surrounded by life, while suffocating inside a poor version of one. Grip the match, set the fire. Don't save a thing.
Rebirth. Reborn. Now this is progress. The black box will reveal only this. I will sit. Sit and wait until not a breath escapes my body. Burning in our box. What did all of this even mean? More objects to represent a status. One we can't even prove. Hide behind what we have taken. You have done this. The memory of me will leave with the ash of lost treasures. Goodbye to you. Goodbye to everything.
