1. |
Smoking Mirror
11:50
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It’s there in the plains ethereal. It’s there in the hanging void of none. It’s there where no whisper dares break its hold. Hanging from a rosary, haunting like the cold. A burden of sorrow, a burden of shame, a burden of guilt, a burden of pain, no greater curse than to be given a name. Innocence, a foreign tongue that speaks its rapture, drowned out by the sound of life itself. Conscripted and consigned, ordained into strife, given the orders amongst the rank and file, heads hang low, don’t look at what is before you. I will never escape. I will never be at peace. There’s no discharge from the war. From eternity into a borrowed dream. Subject to life and agony, give in to the grave.
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2. |
It That Betrays
07:24
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Rescind, look the other way. Suffer under the unending blight. Deny the outstretched hand. In the theater of all amity another curtain is closed. The soul grows weary under stone, a decaying tomb, of flesh and bone. Infernal sun, scorn the backs of your disciples, your crucible, your wrath. Reach your scarlet arms into the abyss of hope. A false promise, forever our home.
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3. |
Lathe of Heaven
07:21
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In the muck, in the mire, sovereign nature breeds, its heir reviled. And so we hide in past and present thought. A lathe before us, our hands caught. We cannot change our paths. In the temples of insolent pride, we kneel before our altars, wither and die. We cannot change our paths, fate before us, a mirrored past. Succumb to the natural order, the coming end. In the gardens of past and present thought, we bury our dead where roses rot. Hide beneath our monument of compromise: the coming concrete tide.
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4. |
Years of Lead
07:54
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Witness the birth of violence, the progeny of the destitute. To the righteous, to the condemned, none shall be spared from blinded blade, unfeeling and without remorse. A mass grave lies before your sacred nuance. This feral flame refuses to choose which ember spawn, elected to the wind, destined to the bark, will scar the first tree in the forest of our miseries. Ash alone will be the currency, and dirt alone will be the food. There can be nothing after this. I dream of endless wastelands. I dream of endless grief. I dream of endless struggle with no relief. Seek comfort at the tip of the spear, the spell broken. An end to subjugation. An end to compromise. An end to sentinels of order over life.
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5. |
I Will Guide Thy Hand
11:00
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A funeral, a burial rite of passage into the unknown fallen night. The unanswered question, the abolition of the self. No longer chained by this carrion dream, we have no choice but to lay upon the ground. The roots reclaim, the vines rejoice. Bruise the head. Bruise the heel. To the oceans: the truth in tide. To the windswept: the solace of sky. To the earth below, we shall writhe in the maternal dirt and leave the mirage. For I’ve seen your death inscribed in the air drawn before a final cough: the harbinger of the decline of all order, of the divine. Dance around all the fires we light on their shrines, Dance around all the pyres we light on their thrones. Bathe in the moonlight, revel in the unknown. There is no truth. There are no bounds. There is but the earth, return to the ground.
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