1. |
Birth Rights of the Sick
08:11
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A dying mother is always in need
Hair down, boy in her arms, eternally
In pain and in need of beauty
Suffering for the chance to breed the free
He who is free must learn to crush the free
The weakness, the freedom, of spiritual destiny
A moribund father exhales love as he bleeds
Barren head, lesions, afflicted internally
His arms still carry the burdening weight
Of passing on failure, breeding deceit
His fingers still fold, his nails are all cracked
Easy to look to the heavens when forced on your back
Died long before
Better off sterile than lording over a sick race
Mother Earth and Father God breed only disgrace
Pray for new vacancy
On your knees at your grave
Pass on the bloodline
Slave of a slave of a slave of a slave
Perpetuated dream of a knave
Beautiful heir, here are your heirlooms
Pass down the darkness
Pass down the illness
Pass down resentment
Pass down regret
Pass down the appetite
Pass down the ruinous
Pass down the laughter
Pass down the love
Ancient father, progenitor of reverie
Worldly mother, microcosm elementary
Disaffected children, loneliness in their biology
Fate sold to them, victims of modernity
From the cell to the human
To the colony to the country
To the planet to the galaxy
To the cosmos and beyond
We see only our father
Only our mother
And we know we've been betrayed
We are too small to betray
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2. |
Underbelly
05:45
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Bring it to me
The kindness that stings and burns in the shade
The belief that sinks into the stomach of love
The fraud, the decay, of life
Let me imagine it can smile
Then let me poison it from beneath
Please allow me to seethe and to wallow in the thoughts of malice
Please allow me to seethe and to worship the promises of malice Please allow me to seethe and to wallow in the thoughts of malice
Please allow me to seethe and to worship the promises of malice
Here, my thoughts are allowed to be callous
Here, my thoughts are allowed to be callous
Here, my thoughts are allowed to be callous
Here, my thoughts are allowed to be callous
I am no longer delicate
I am strength personified and I crave defeat
It has come to this
No longer intricate
I am an animal amongst animals awaiting retreat
It has always been
It has come to this
It has always been
It has come to this
Family mansion for this life
Family tomb for the next
Prisons of the flesh
Mass graves for city streets
Dust flesh falls the best
Dying in our creche
Family mansion for this life
Family tomb for the next
Family mansion for this life
Family tomb for the next
Prisons of the flesh
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3. |
In View of Birth
07:06
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I have to confess this I cannot blame anyone for my suffering. There are no triggers that I am aware of, therefore I must be to blame. I am to blame. It torments me, the very thought of awareness, and the subsistence of my species demands that I attack. So I attack myself or I attack the outside. I attack myself or I attack the outside. I've become attached to emotion, no matter the consequence and those close to me, who share with me, can too become victims. I am a victim as you are a victim. Our commonality exists in that we suffer. Racked with guilt, feel the wretchedness. Rejection now anxiety, helplessness now anger or apathy. Feasting torment, create the wretchedness. Repudiation a strengthening delusion and a solitary path but one that gives me power. Racked with guilt. I have to again confess that with this knowledge I have been blessed. There are no short cuts through this walk of shame, only talking faces and self obsessed names. I have to again confess that with this knowledge I have been blessed. Martyrs suffer all the same. I will not suffer like who I became
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4. |
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Ascending to darkness and waiting, never again to fall into the light of man
I raise my head and clench my fists, I make a path divine
The shadows laugh, writhe, and scream
They taunt me from the past
I've set the traps and caught my prey, sacrificed from within
Devotion bleeds, lies suffering, as I attempt to make this task my last
Injure eternity
Murder time
Mutilate evolution
Spoil all, undermine
For the rebirth of the aggrieved
Where desolation is destiny
Ascending to darkness and waiting, never again apprehensive of the twilight
I adjust my eyes and clear my mind, anointed with no sight
There are inner forms and gnashing teeth
But never is there unease
Foresaw an end, made my amends, sacrificed from inside
Devoutness feeds, leech enemy, do I have time for this one last task?
Cripple immortality
The distance should die
Disfigure the future
Maim all, undermine
For the rebirth of the aggrieved
Where desolation is destiny
For renewal of halcyon scorn
Where depletion is divine decree
A closing thought in an indifferent realm
An entity forever underwhelmed
Desolation is destiny
Depletion is divine decree
Here exists all suffering
Consciousness through eternity
A shedding of skin, anxious reaction
What right have you to abstraction?
Consciousness through eternity
Mass feint born of anxiety
Depletion of natural energy
Aided by spirituality
I raise my head, I clench my fists, I make a path divine
Hatred of self is reverence but too much time I've spent amongst the swine
I cloister myself on the coldest of mountains
I cloister myself in hellish winds
I cloister myself in enlightening shadows
Forever withdrawn within
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5. |
The Rewards of Worship
07:16
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God is dead!
Everything freezes
Everything is already cold
Tired of burning
Sick to death of passions restrained
Acting out, leaving scars, in praise of denial
Shunning life, making life, in praise of the vile
Worshiping, suffering, drinking the blood of pain
Devoted to idolatry, one God with infinite infected brains
There is something of memory
There is something of choice
We've been left with the remnants
Shadows of a shadow's voice
The rewards of worship never seen while worshiping
God is dead!
The infinite congeals
Consciousness is already stagnant
Faint with love
Nervous demands to understand
Rebelling against rebellion, while forcing a smile
Hating life, creating life, making life worthwhile
Bended knee, suffering, eating the flesh of bane
Forcing out, through exhaustion, belief in the self and his reign
We've been left with salvation
Umbrage of our feigned rejoice
The rewards of worship never seen while worshiping
Unless they are seen by the dead eyes of a mouthpiece
The bread being promised has turned to mold
All promises from the sick gods, the meek, and the old
There is cold, especially in the mountains
Where calculated movements take aeons to affect
Smaller consequences to larger appetites
No gods, just the will to dissect
The meaninglessness of life.
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6. |
The Dry Idols
07:28
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What dry terrain has been travelled
To fix my eyes on the falling water
To blink only when winds sear my eyes
Only when tears drop and wander
I desired a final solution
Danced around my own proclivity
If the wind took the Gods, their statues, their men
Then, without force, it too will reap me
Throw me in with the dry idols
Traversed the cold, traversed the bright
Obsessed over the luminary who denies his light
Passed through the gates, passed through in chains
For freedom-Death, the darkness of a starless night
Traversed the cold, traversed the bright
Passed through the gates, passed through in chains
Across the sun, across volcanic ash
Remains of the earth, ruins of the past
The dry idols call my name
Arid beneath the deluge
I join them, but not to honor them
To be where I belong
Dead amongst the dead Gods
In defiance of the living ones
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7. |
Blessed Suffering
08:36
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Inspiration bestowed upon chaos by the ideas of chaos that move underneath. Undetected in belief, unknowable through attachment, and silenced by need. Our purpose, a purpose amongst the infinite, a colossal misjudgement. All we have to end our blessed suffering. Here, within, lies the illusion. The chance we've given to a future upon a horizon. Chasing the sunrise and arriving as it sets, no choice but to suffer the night. Suffer the night. Inspiration bestowed upon chaos by the ideas of chaos that move underneath. Undetected in belief, unknowable through attachment, and silenced by need. Our purpose, a purpose amongst the infinite, a colossal misjudgement. All we have to end our blessed suffering. Here, within, lies the illusion. The chance we've given to a future upon a horizon. Chasing the sunrise and arriving as it sets, no choice but to suffer the night. Cyclical disorientation, always looking for new consciousness. Consequential will. Giving it all for less. A map of the stars with no light to read, suffer the night with the right to perceive. Pushing out from within, living only to live, well fed and drowning in the driest of seas. Making our gods make us view them from our knees. Nothing can ever end our blessed suffering.
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Shroud Of Despondency Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Shroud of Despondency was formed by Rory Heikkila in the late 1990's.
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