1. |
Sverige
05:46
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2. |
I Am Unknowing
08:07
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|
Feast and devour the black-boned dead,
Bread and circuses, circuses and blood-bread.
The camera eye is watching, watching and recording it all:
The ruination of the Garden,
The laughing Fool as he falls.
We in our pride bound together,
A pride of the dim-witted proud,
The crush and the crowd's roaring;
Unthinking, unknowing, we drown.
We are the beast pursuing,
The serpent chewing its tail,
From the dead we pull the embers,
Live by the glow of death's entrails.
The signs are all around us,
Years are drawing down;
From the flood we'll drink laughing,
Blind and unknowing and proud.
Those with ears should hear,
Hear and fear the Word,
But the Word remains unknown,
Shrouded in the darkness,
Silent as old bones.
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3. |
The Dancing Dead
07:45
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Faces behind faces behind faces,
Traces of dust on the wind,
Ghosts inside shells that cracked:
The quick and the dead,
The dancing dead,
And all the voices in their heads,
And a hunger that never ends,
Never ends, never ends, never end...
The dead dancing to their end.
We walked in lines towards the distance,
Marched into futures bold and bright,
Praised our self-appointed brilliance,
Reveled in our might.
We pillaged the mother that spawned us,
Put her children to the ravenous flame,
Fed with a hunger that was endless,
Justified by a self-given name.
Though the Word came among us,
Our ways we could not change,
Slaves to our mercurial nature,
Ruled by minds we could not tame.
We walked in lines toward the distance,
The unknowing, dancing dead;
Blinded by a radiant future,
Glorious fortunes not yet read.
Repeating the cancer mantra:
Growth, growth without end;
We believed ourselves the masters
As we were mastered by our passions,
And martyred the mother that spawned us,
Burned her just like the millennia’s dead,
And where once stood tomorrow,
The wreck of time in its stead.
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4. |
It Is Finished
10:48
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|
The sunset came with a whimper,
Slithered into the star-scarred night,
And the laughter that began as a whisper
Roared like the cities alight.
Is this another beginning?
Is this the final end?
Is it over, is it finished;
Is the future really dead?
Will we wake from dreams and nightmares
And praise the golden dawn?
Or has the Word deserted us?
Is there nowhere left to fall?
It is finished, it is over,
The work of ages is done:
The race of men must perish,
In their cages or on the run.
Ocean's thought is forming,
Flooding the tunnels below;
Drenching the parched soil
As the cities burn and groan.
Dust in our mouths, feral winds,
The weight of centuries squandered,
Spent, surrendered, and lost...
Lost in time's torrential flowing,
Vanishing like the hoarfrost.
We fed on those who came before us,
Until the silence finally came and crawled
Into our limitless entrails, and all hope was gone.
Dusk softens harsh edges;
Dim images waver, then fade:
It is finished, the day is done,
The epic over, the thread unstrung.
Now hear the locusts rise and sing:
Blessed is the unborn king.
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5. |
||||
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Crushed to dust by the many feet,
The feet that tread this stone;
The Word writhes upon salted earth,
Hunger squats upon the throne.
We are the silence of the ancients,
The wisdom that led nowhere;
In our despair we made an idol,
An idol of our fear.
Here upon the broken world,
We constructed a fortress made of bone,
Bled the dead to bring the light
That would set fire to our homes.
Crushed to dust by many feet,
Crushed in mud and wars:
The writhing Word,
The great unwashed,
The hapless bloody herd.
Sacrificed to ravenous beings,
The beasts that feed upon their own,
Wisdom was its own dead end;
Wisdom was its own dead end;
Wisdom was its own dead end;
Wisdom was its own dead end;
Wisdom was its own dead end;
No one sits upon the throne...
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6. |
Advent
09:36
|
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Robbing life's smoldering cradle
To become the likes of gods,
And turn upon the destitute
And strike them with the laws.
An old man on the mountain,
A child convulsed by fear;
A calf, a golden idol,
All drawing down the years.
When the culling comes a calling,
When the Rapture is at hand,
When the End at last advents,
Against the walls you'll stand,
And turn with evil eye to glare
At Christ's trembling outstretched hands
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7. |
Letting Go
10:00
|
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The voice of the silence beckons,
The light spirals and, swirling, falls;
The predator crawls to the cross,
Bloodied, with broken claws.
We must make an idol,
An idol of all that we fear,
And erase the hunger inside us,
The hunger that brought us here.
In our pride we did not listen,
And now we are come to the Fall;
In our pride we did not listen,
We chased all that glistened
Even though it left us cold.
The golden silence is slowly falling,
Like snow, like light, like life itself.
The incense smolders on the altar,
The feet on the staircase falter,
Time has run its course.
And now we sit upon the shore,
Watching it all wash away,
Letting it all go at the end,
The end of ending days.
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8. |
The Emptiness
10:12
|
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Our business is the end of days,
The end of Rhodes, the end of Rome,
And the dust rising against the sky
As the masses bled and cried
And fed upon the dead.
Our business is the end and the beginning;
Of what? We will never know.
No eyes to see, no ears to hear,
No mouth to gripe and groan.
The spinning death's head's grinning,
The wind plays through dry bones,
Inside we feel the emptiness;
Search the skies, and know we are alone.
Our business here is finished,
Our work now is done:
After all this toil and blood turned to soil
What have we become?
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The Locust Factory Rochester, New York
If existence is suffering then Creation is sin.
New stuff: thirdeyemutilation.bandcamp.com
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