This beatmap was submitted using in-game submission on Friday, December 16, 2022 at 8:32:53 AM
Artist: Kardashev
Title: Cellar of Ghosts
Tags: iamtickrate val deathgaze atmospheric black metal deathcore progressive liminal rite english
BPM: 210
Filesize: 12519kb
Play Time: 06:19
Difficulties Available:
Information: Scores/Beatmap Listing
---------------
Artist: Kardashev
Title: Cellar of Ghosts
Tags: iamtickrate val deathgaze atmospheric black metal deathcore progressive liminal rite english
BPM: 210
Filesize: 12519kb
Play Time: 06:19
Difficulties Available:
- Remnants (8.32 stars, 3399 notes)
Information: Scores/Beatmap Listing
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Cellar of Ghosts
“This is all I knew…I ran.
Dead men don’t come home…I’ll rest.”
The air is damp and heady, carrying the aroma of moss and wet drywall. The Lost Man smiles weakly as he remembers stealing sips of his parents’ wine. They must have known, of course, and yet he and his brother felt so proud of their mischief. But whatever remnants there are of the wine collection are now unrecognizable and shattered in the corner. The Lost Man closes his eyes and leans his head against the decaying frame. He hears the deep groan of overgrown trees swaying in the wind and pressing into the eaves of the house. But here, below the earth, he is almost able to pretend that his childhood is back. He can imagine that to descend the stairs would be to step back to a time when his brother was alive, when his mother didn’t cry, and when his father loved him. Whereas only moments ago he wished to sleep and never wake again, things were different now. He would stay awake as long as possible, wrestling this small shimmer of peace into submission.
Dead men don’t come home…I’ll rest.”
The air is damp and heady, carrying the aroma of moss and wet drywall. The Lost Man smiles weakly as he remembers stealing sips of his parents’ wine. They must have known, of course, and yet he and his brother felt so proud of their mischief. But whatever remnants there are of the wine collection are now unrecognizable and shattered in the corner. The Lost Man closes his eyes and leans his head against the decaying frame. He hears the deep groan of overgrown trees swaying in the wind and pressing into the eaves of the house. But here, below the earth, he is almost able to pretend that his childhood is back. He can imagine that to descend the stairs would be to step back to a time when his brother was alive, when his mother didn’t cry, and when his father loved him. Whereas only moments ago he wished to sleep and never wake again, things were different now. He would stay awake as long as possible, wrestling this small shimmer of peace into submission.