Скачать или смотреть The Hollow Hour - Warhammer 40k

The planet appears on no star chart, yet people find their way to it all the same. Pilgrims arrive in orderly lines, wearing borrowed coats and paper names, drawn by a quiet pressure behind the eyes. From orbit it looks like a sanctuary — a glass tower rising from pale stone, bells chiming on a broken clock that never quite keeps time.

Inside, the air is warm and forgiving. Voices murmur instructions. Marks are placed on wrists “for guidance.” The stairs always lead upward, even when no one remembers climbing. Every step feels chosen, as if the planet itself is finishing your thoughts for you.

What waits beneath the chapel is not a god, nor a daemon with a face. It is something older and less defined — an open hunger shaped like salvation. It learns through repetition. Through chant. Through the sound of voices breaking in unison. Every scream is planted, every prayer composted, every soul folded into something still growing.

No one truly dies here. They are processed. Repurposed. Their fear becomes structure. Their faith becomes foundation. The clock will crack again. The line will keep moving.

And long after the procession ends, the forbidden hour remains — listening, learning, waiting for the next voice to wear.

Lyrics:

Clock cracks
Bleeding between ticks
Footsteps gather
Drawn like filings to a magnet

Single file
White masks
Borrowed coats
Papers pressed
Like talismans in throats
Eyes up
To the tower made of glass
Names scroll
Faster than the crowd can pass
You feel it in the gaps between breaths
In the half-lit hall
Every shadow checks
Hand on your back
But there’s nobody there
Only that pull
That pull
Up the stairs

Welcome to the forbidden hour
(process, process)
Where the real thing rots under painted flowers
(higher, higher)
Every scream is a seed in the dark earth turning
You won’t die here
You’ll just feel something learning

"Line moves" / "forgiven" / "forever"

They stamp wrists
With a little faint mark
Looks like nothing
Til it burns in the dark
Voices braided
Into one long plea
Lifted up
Like a wire through the teeth
You reach for the rail
But it bends like smoke
Hear your own laugh loop back like a joke
Mouth moves first
Then the sound arrives late
Torn from your lungs
Fed to something
Under the grate
(process, process)
Where the real thing rots under painted flowers
(higher, higher)
Every scream is a seed in the dark earth turning
You won’t die here
You’ll just feel something learning

Procession ends
But the hour stays open
It wears your voice
Like a new token

Who’s behind the mirrored sky?
Not a face
Just an open eye
What’s that swell beneath the floor?
Every prayer you ever swore

“Take my fear” — it feeds
“Take my pain” — it breeds
You thought “salvation” meant escape
But the gate was a hungry shape

Every chant
Every vow
Every broken shout
Pours into it
Pours into it
Building it out

Welcome to the forbidden hour
(process, process)
Where the real thing rots under painted flowers
(higher, higher)
Every scream is a seed in the dark earth turning
You won’t die here
You’ll just feel something learning

Procession ends
But the hour stays open
It wears your voice
Like a new token