from by Zero Degrees Freedom

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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 sombre voice of death.
The siren calls 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 bones
Unfettered thoughts better left beneath the waves.

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.


from The Purge, released August 5, 2017



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Zero Degrees Freedom Launceston, Australia

Dark, melodic metal from Tasmania.

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