1. |
The Night Circles In
06:29
|
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|
Pallid, the glow of your temple.
Darkness come, take me into you.
Feel the wind, run across the bone.
Darkness come, take my hand.
The branches, fill the sky.
Close you up, trap you.
Darkness come, take me into you.
Darkness come, take my hand.
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2. |
Damage
05:52
|
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|
A shadow, haunts my door.
A memory, of a night that lingers.
like an old ghost.
It built distrust, and now I doubt those things I should love.
And now I doubt those things I should love.
These walls have dents that I made.
When I couldn’t cope.
The sadness turned to anger turned to blood.
Another long walk.
I lived in ruin, as the structures fell over me.
An abyss I sunk into.
The pressure killing me.
I’ve wrote, a thousand times how it felt.
But the silver lingers over me strong.
The scissors lost, somewhere forgotten.
I hope I never find them again.
Cause the burn never left, and these vices cling onto my skin.
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3. |
||||
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Lock the clay door and draw the curtain of leaves.
Let silence stop and consciousness begin.
Eyes closed.
Heart open.
E.C.B
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4. |
Autumn Lungs
11:12
|
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|
In the centre of this town.
A black hole fills our fucking lungs.
We chase gods to speak our pain.
But we die in lonely places.
As we rot suffering the weather.
Changing times beg for obedience.
There is no answer.
All we do is bleed out our time.
All we do is bleed out our time.
We are left here, empty.
The holes in our hearts left as vapid voids.
When home is just a hill of coffins.
The cemetery is this whole fucking town.
The land of desolation.
As the skies turn my eyes black.
When every breath here burns.
No longer reaching up.
We wait, to be buried in the dirt.
We wait, to be buried in the dirt.
I’ve missed that sense of unity.
Of looking up and feeling peace.
Instead I see stars dead in black water.
As I wait, in this mass grave.
The flesh of many pressed on mine.
No warmth, no life.
Just a void, thats disgraced me.
Thats stolen my certainty.
I’m sick of the nights creeping up on me.
As all we do feels meaningless, feels like nothing.
A dead language, left on my legs.
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Moss Eater Reading, UK
Post-Doom from the bowels of Berkshire
we're also at
coffinviewcollective.bandcamp.com check it out for us and other projects
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