1. |
The Fine Art
06:11
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Oh, this bliss, this fatal deliverance,
travel portals to failures unknown.
Oh, what is this, this foetal indifference?
The storm that plays only for you..
How it burns!
Such glorious colours, how those shades they mesmerise!
Such sounds, the viscious arts! (such viscious hearts!)
Ink blackens the aqua vitae
Behold this, the fine art of self-destruction!
What darkness is this? Parallels of beauty laid bare
Bow to chaos, feel the pain complacency brings.
Feel the pain humanity brings.
Sunrise. How it burns the lids.
Drown in elegance...so ineloquent.
In twenty, thirty, six.
Ill drink on the shore as the first wave hits.
In 2036...
Ill greet Apophis with a smile on my lips.
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2. |
They
04:11
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Bleed as you will martyr, for naught shall avail you,
eyes ever bleak, seeps through Winter's crooked claw.
Broken! The mirror returns your most wicked stare
Carry your tune to that well, too far to tread.
SILENCE! They demand of the unwashed before them
still your tongues, lest your leper mind betray!
Dark though your sorrows, these depths you shall never see.
Your cities have crumbled, burned to dust!
Held in thrall, in fear we trust;
Now hear her voice on the wind speak of fire, death, blood!
They.
Warned.
You.
Safe 'neath the watchful eyes of a malignant mind
The hive ever-watchful. Omniscient.
In strains against the maelstrom, caught in webs of light.
Deep within those catacombs, yet the end is in sight.
Behold the great answer; we created the lie.
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3. |
Tranquillity
07:17
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Against the tide, perspective is lost
Upon these wretched shores, swim such wicked ghosts
Solace denied as the birds of carrion scream
The peace disturbed, drowning in tranquillity
This silence pollutes what the wretched birds convey
The ghost sits laughing, as the gulls stalk their prey
And I hear, the siren call my name on the wind.
Still that fucking ghost it tries to call my name.
It wails, it heaves.
That crooked finger of blame, points so soundlessly, yet aimlessly it burns.
Oh! The bleak caress of hatred paints another shattered portrait now
In bitter ink so black.
A watercolour hell from brushes made of bone
Unfettered thoughts better left buried.
Cold; I ripp'd the albatross' peacock plumage from my throat
And cast it to the sea.
Those bitter nails of pain, loosened from my spine,
as I watched those feathers fall, upon the wretched tide.
Nevermore; to see that cursed raven in my blackened sight;
Cast down from off my door.
I watched those feathers fall, that hollow shell submerged
Turned my back as the waves consumed her.
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Zero Degrees Freedom Launceston, Australia
Dark, melodic metal from Tasmania.
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