Label: Lupus Lounge - WOLF 050LU • Format: 2x, CD Album DVD DVD-Video All Media Limited Edition Artbook • Country: Germany • Genre: Rock • Style: Black Metal, Post Rock, Avantgarde
Translate Email Print. Directionless Resurrectionist 2. The Blight Of God's Acre 5. Man's Laughter 6. The Underside Of Eden 7. Gatherer Of The Pure 8. Left Behind As Static 9. Corvus Corona Part 1 Corvus Corona Part 2 Dead Love. Directionless Resurrectionist Once upon a time there was a lady of no repute, One Miss Crow, who, by force of a certain stranger, had engaged in violent night-time actions, against her very will.
Resulting from this invasion came, an aberration of desperation, a horror in all but name, A stoop-backed boy, short of stature, violent by nature; to be expelled from the womb in late November.
A fast track to sorrow in a world bred slow. From foetid seed, a poison tree with a venomous bark did grow. He was to work all the hours his sorry god sent, a resident of fantasy, living a life of lament. He was to have no living lovers, no-one on who to depend. Yet his friends were to call him Carrion, the friends inside his head No healthy prophets encountered outside these steely inquisitor's eyes.
No men of any monotone god we could stand proud beside. They and their gilt-riddled baubles cast onto the blazing temple pyres, holy whore houses proudly reduced to ashes of sweetest desecration. Soporific spirits quaffed from dusty, sightless skulls. Strong-heart would not entertain their malady. Weak of will tangled in leprosy. Spiritual sickness babbling incessantly.
Babbling Babylon put to the torch. Pinched faces staring through funereal Fretful - The Nihilist Spasm Band - ¬x~x=x, felt flame broiled crook'd hands a'grasp.
Ground them to fine dust, snorted them deep. Left coated in confusion, with my lack of sleep. You that seek to encode reality, Corvus Corona Part 2 - A Forest Of Stars - A Shadowplay For Yesterdays defraud sanity - Be damned! You that seek to incarcerate spirit, Pump It - Black Eyed Peas - Selections from Monkey Business calcify astral eyes - Be damned! Be mindful that mind is not you.
Be mindful that you are not mind. Be mindful that heart knows how this goes. As real as Azrael? Don't mind Safe - The House Of Love - The Fontana Years never mind. Con-gregation staring in pious devotion, ravenous spirit starved faces, famished minds consuming works of friction, symbols of submission choking scrawny necks. We count spent prophets into filthy begging bowls.
Conflagration of the body - see? Do you really see? To kneel lost in venereal veneration, to love their god served rare, savouring their saviour, on their hands and knees. Nowhere to go from here. Golden wine proffered by filthy hosts, Mrs. Sweet Cool Heart (Ethno Mix) - Jawad Jawad - Mrs.
Sweet Cool Heart as benediction. Washing down the failure, praying for something stronger to take the taste away. Sorry sun god facsimile, not so convincing in the cold light of day. Half baked men of soiled cloth, scream tales of avarice and sloth. Four and twenty corpse fed crows, untamed, laughing cackle their names. Slave religion of the pitiful, lost, choking songs of sorrow and loss, Four and twenty corpse fed crows, untamed, a nesting amongst the graves.
The Blight Of God's Acre He's a seaside side-show freak armed with the tools of the trade, standing in shadow by cemetery gates. The revenant tenants of this tenement yard, raise Corvus Corona Part 2 - A Forest Of Stars - A Shadowplay For Yesterdays fingers to the fates.
No solace to be found in their foetid tombs, he at leisure to violate those catacomb wombs. Plots twist with hosts yet unwilling. Last sods of earth clawed away, he knows they know what he knows. Polite enough to knock upon the lid of each box, to await their invitation before being so bold, cracked heart stutters in hollow chest so cold. So, sunk deep in festering flesh, their baubles stripped at leisure, Guiltless here, without compassion.
Taking pleasure in their corruption. It all gets worse when he finds a fresh one, to be carted off as contraband for the medical profession. So, nefarious urges sated, pockets a-brimming with shining trinkets, he plays at brother Magpie's games. Heart a flutter of oily black. Leaning back against a monument, heedless of inscription, a stolen cigarette fumbled from a hidden poacher's pocket. He may yet take a moment to ponder, upon the marble town of Yonder.
And maybe just a trice to wonder, why her bone orchard saplings never say a word. And only come Corvus Corona Part 2 - A Forest Of Stars - A Shadowplay For Yesterdays to play, when he requests admission, then assuming rite of passage, in decayed passage ways.
So he loads his barrow with the fruits of God's acre, and all away upon his toes he goes, to shower his bone sore friends in their ivory sewers with gifts all rent asunder. But all willing, unresisting. Spoiled fruits of plunder.
Man's Laughter I don't want to be left behind here The Underside Of Eden There is a fear here. Azrael has a finger on my pulse. His infinity is not so far removed, from the Metatrons' babbling insanities. Music of the Spheres bouncing, as infinite echoes bickering in this rubber tomb.
Whom God helps? None but itself. So if God is death, death is god, yes? There is a fear here. Azrael has a'whispered in my ear. His infinity is not seeking to improve, on the Metatrons' gabbled profanities.
Music of the Spheres receding, as infinite sorrows in this indefinite pause of doom. Signs on this bone-sown road show naught but portents.
The angry dead feign smiles as they point the way. Through nothing but rocks just quietly spinning, around lights a'gaining critical mass. It is all fires, but no cleansing here. It is all fires. Gatherer Of The Pure He's a man of the world, but his is a small world, being a world whirled and whipped inside a filth caked skull. All a dalliance in delusion, all dreamed down in narcotic seclusion, he peeps all askance through all and sundry; three dimension unreality his fourth dimension play-day.
All eternity a rainy Sunday. He, a builder of worlds in dreams. He, a destroyer of worlds in dreams. Subsistence burnt black, effulguent Pronto Para Destruir - O Inimigo - Imaginário Absoluto pan besmirched.
Labours of love ladled into ravenous toilet bowl of life. All lost souls to feat upon fresh hot meal of voided bowel. He, a leacher of colour.
He, a void in sanity. A poisoner of the well, instiller of winter's gray flavour. A spasmed spatter of the obvious, a-soiling gleaming uncertainty. On a lonely wander through twisting streets of Yonder, his one good eye spying, prying, a shadow play for yesterdays.
All tomorrows, all yesterdays today, Carrion Crow, pinch-faced proprietor of this sorry sideshow. Roll up, roll up!
Crack cranks his codeine calliope, all is vibrant colour without his vermined bone box. All within, bleak nothing - all without to pay homage, at his insistence.
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