Whips out like tongues of justice licking salt from our wounds
Night fall, curtain call.
Peace lords, in suits, bring bills that are much bigger than those belts that hold their hungry wallets in check.
You came here; to the place where money melts.
With no knowledge of them; now they own you.
Eggshells under the words you spit like grains of sand stuck between your broken teeth.
Might I suggest warning when your fear is peaking behind the dark charade your play?
You lay here; in the bed where dreams get raped,
With no energy left.
I’ll return you to your precious life, so you can carry on.
Forget about the time you’ve spent and the mistakes you’ve made.
Might I suggest caution here?
Poor boys on wires attached to hands that shake away the life they once had, the lives they now live.
War gods pitting young kids against themselves with art and fire, once warm, from souls that they snuffed and smoked.
One god, one knife, one past, one life, two hands, one goal, one mind inches from a lump of coal.
You’ll be safe here; in the hands of those who know, under my wing.
“Another precious act, it’s not a question that put you down.”
Another selfish act, another prophecy to put me down…
The Long Island metal band's third album etches arena-sized hooks into their jagged compositions, deftly balancing experimental and poppy inclinations. Bandcamp Album of the Day May 12, 2022