1. |
I. Idyll Anathema
07:07
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[M]
Hear me speak, I call from the streets.
In lonesome heat, I writhe in the sheets.
With silver tongue and siren call,
I beckon flesh become my thrall.
[W]
She was beautiful, once,
When everything was.
She has fallen away.
The downward spiral.
She was perfect, once,
When everything was.
She’s become something less.
Unrecognizable.
[A]
The taste lingers forever.
A day without her is a thousand.
A singular drive to fill a singularity;
The vacuum craves all and holds none.
Collapse and consume; construct and confess.
[W]
A blasphemy of her former self.
Twisted and contorted by shameless hands.
Degraded and raped.
I’ve got my finger on the pulse
And beauty is dying.
[A]
Forget every face;
They aren’t meant for memory.
Grand deconstruction of glorious design.
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2. |
II. Voracious Embrace
08:13
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[K]
Fantasy stares back from the void.
Blur the line.
When did I become...it’s too late.
The window was always closed;
Now I have opened the door.
[L]
Abandon!
Strip down, show me your form.
I watch the honey drip from your tongue,
Feel the chilling caress of your fingers.
Relent!
Shake left, right, left, right, hip, side, hypnotize.
I watch the milk heave on your chest.
Mother of pantheons, giver of life.
Demigoddess, give me your life.
Acquiesce!
Liquor flows between your thighs.
Let me fall that I may rise.
Feed my emptiness with emptiness,
Starvation and nausea.
[K]
Dance, like you always have.
Dance, my filthy darling.
Dance, like a worthless princess.
Dance, my precious whore.
When did you begin...it’s too late.
[R]
Pitiful wretch!
Close the curtain, lock the door.
Pluck your eye, sever your hand.
Bear not the curse of liberty.
This is not what you are.
THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU ARE.
Pitiful wretch, so pitiful.
Pitiful wretch, unpitiable.
[K]
When did you begin...it’s too late.
I watch the wine fall from your face,
Replacing crimson hue with pallor.
This stillness is your true form.
I’ve got my hands around her throat.
This is the last night she’ll ever live.
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3. |
III. The Silicon Mirror
06:27
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[M]
Gaze deep, obsidian soul.
Drain your sum, your parts, your whole.
The heart’s abyss yet seeks your dive.
Though I am death, I make you alive.
[S]
Faint flicker pierces glass, calls me beyond.
Pale phantoms mimic life.
An artifice of flesh and light.
[P]
Smoke and mirrors.
[S]
This smoke rises forever.
I watch it in the reflector.
My heart, excised, vein by vessel,
Desiccated and displayed.
This is what I choose.
[A]
What will a man do when the well runs dry?
I have leapt to the bottom to dig.
Dying of thirst, I seek water from a spring
That has never once quenched.
I am the definition of insanity.
The void stares back at me.
[P]
Open up your eyes.
The truth will not be far.
Though your despairing tongue begs it depart.
The fires of your eye reduce your mind to ash.
The embers of a soul trapped inside the looking glass.
Open up your eyes, wider than the sky.
She shows you what you are.
[S]
Stay down, stay down!
[P]
Open up your eyes.
[S]
Get down, get down!
[P]
Wider than the sky.
[S]
Stay down, stay down…
[P]
Embers of a soul.
[S]
Get down, get down…
[P]
Inside the looking glass.
[S]
Slow down...slow down!
[A]
In the darkness, darkness I see; the darkness in me.
In the darkness, nothing to see.
The darkness is me.
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4. |
-. Fits & Fevers
04:27
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M̴͉̀i̷͕̅d̴̟̒x̶͖̓x̴͖̌x̷͙́x̷̫̒x̵̤́ ̵͙̇r̵͔̕ẍ̵̰x̸͇͒x̷͈́s̴̨̎ ̷̘͛t̴̩͑x̴̭͠ ̶̤̎ṭ̸̛ẁ̶̳x̸̳̆x̵̫̎x̴̪́x̶̼̌x̸̮̄x̴̜͛ ̴̈ͅx̸͕̏x̵͉̐x̷̠̓ ̴̨́ṣ̵̓x̵̼͊x̸͍̀x̵̩̋x̵͇̕ ̵͎̈Ĭ̶̝ ̸̯̌w̷̡̄x̸͖̓x̴̟̔x̴̢̆x̵͔̍x̷̺́ ̶̢͋s̷͕͆ț̴́x̵͙͝x̷̜̎x̸̝̐
̴̦̏T̶͔̄x̵̬̔x̴̭́x̵̙͝x̷̫̏x̷̤́ẍ̸ͅ ̶̧̚d̸͔̉x̴̔ͅx̶̹̍x̶̘͘x̷͔͑ ̸̺̕x̶̱̂x̴̥͘x̸͓̓ ̴̦͌d̷̟͆x̷͉̀š̶̮x̶̻̿x̵͇̓x̸͓͗x̴̲̑x̸̞̏x̸̧̀x̶̝̂x̷͉͗x̸͑͜ț̷̏ ̴̩̀x̴̥̑x̸͓̔ ̸̱̀ṡ̴̱x̴̣͂x̸͎̋x̵̗̚-̸̮̊x̴͇̎ẍ̷̘́x̴̤͒x̷̡̍x̵͚̿ḧ̵̨́t̴͈̂ ̸̣̈́h̷̲̀x̶͙̃x̵̖̒ẋ̶̼x̷̡̌x̵̭͠ ̷͖͠p̵̗͐x̴̙͘x̷͔͛x̵̥͛x̵͔͝x̴̭̐x̶͙͆x̷̘͋x̴̣̕x̸̖̕
̸̤̔E̸̦̋x̴̭͠x̸̱̆ẍ̴͖́x̴̫͐x̴̉͜x̵̭̾ǹ̷̜ ̴̝̔ÿ̸̝́x̷́͜x̶͖̐ẍ̷̥́x̶̹̑ ̶̞̀p̶̢͑x̶͔͘x̸͓̃x̵̗̎x̴͎̕x̶͖͑x̶̣̊ ̴̣̉t̵̞͗x̵̫́x̶̠̽x̸͈͋ ̸͚͝g̴̡̉x̵̘̔x̴̙̐x̶̖̓ ̴̙͆w̶͎̌x̷̠̐x̵̖͆x̶͖̐ ̷͍̔x̶̙͆x̶͎͑ ̷͈̊f̷̩͋x̵͖̒x̵̡̂x̵͙̍ẍ̶̨ẍ̶̭́x̵̖͘x̷̨͊ẍ̶̘́x̵̣͊
̴̠͗U̷̪͑x̷̛̜x̶̹̌x̶͖̓x̴̘̏x̵͙͒ẍ̶̯ ̷̫͘x̴̢̊x̵̰̕ ̷̬̾x̷͉͑x̸̤̋x̸̛͍ ̷̡͗ḡ̷̝r̸̖̃x̴̥̍x̷̱̓x̷̻͂ ̸̠̏x̵̲̏ẍ̷̲́ ̵͇́x̵̹͂x̸̛̭ ̴̥͆o̷͉͐x̴̟̌x̴͉͒ ̵̛͔d̵͖̓x̷͔́x̶̧̓x̶̜̏x̶̦͋x̸̌ͅx̶̰̀x̸̘̓x̴̛̪x̴̟̊ẍ̵̣́,̸̢̃ ̶̂͜x̸̦́x̵̗̿ẍ̵̙́ ̶͉͗g̶̟͠r̸̹̎x̷̠̐x̸̫̅x̴̢͛ ̸̦̑x̴̯̎x̶̟͠ ̵̩̑x̶̤͝ ̸̥͆w̸̘̏x̶͚͑x̸̝̍x̸̝̚x̸̢͠ ̴̣̓w̴͓̒h̸͕͋x̵̱̎x̷͔͗x̷̳̾ ̷̙̀c̴̯͝x̷̘̕ẍ̸̥x̷̼̕x̵̘͛x̶̡̊x̴͍̉x̷̩̉x̴̃͜x̸̧͐s̴̳͠ ̶͉̐x̶̧̄x̷̙̉x̵͖̒ ̸͓͒f̷̠͠x̷͍͘x̴͚̀x̵͓͊x̵̺́x̸̦͝ ̴̮̊b̴͓̀x̸͙̓x̷̗̿x̶̟̑
̵̰̈́W̴̰͝x̶͈́x̶͉̾ ̶͉̈s̵̍ͅx̶̝͗x̴̜̄ ̷̦͛d̴̢͝x̷͈͠x̵͖̋x̸͈̓x̵͙͝x̸̩́x̶̖̒?̶̦̀ ̸̥̽K̸̞͐ẍ̶̭x̸̜̃x̵̪̂ẋ̸̟x̸̽͜x̷͓͑x̶̲́x̷̓ͅ?̸̨̈́ ̸͙̕P̴͗͜x̴̨͗x̶̺̀x̸̜͌?̴̼̅ ̶͔͊B̷̛͔x̸̥̔x̵̝̌x̶̤̕x̷̛̺x̶͚̀?̴͍̋ ̸̺̏S̶͉̃x̶͚̃x̴̭̽x̷̟̋?̵̢͝ ̸̯͌F̸̢͘x̷̭͐x̷̳̕x̵̺̆ẍ̷̧́x̸̰̂?̶͕̓ ̸͊ͅ
̵͓́Ẍ̸̨x̶͇̌x̸̘̍ ̶̲̋w̶̧͌x̸͕͊x̴̺͠x̶͍̽ ̶̳̈́X̸͈̔'̶̦̉x̴̻͝x̸̘̅ ̵̹̐l̶͇̐x̸͙̆x̵̠̓x̸͚̓x̵̳̑d̶̬̿ ̸̬̏x̸̧̍x̶͚͋ ̵̼̕x̶͙̆ ̷͙̈́w̷̺͑x̷̹̑x̸̣̕x̶̟͝ẍ̸̢́ ̴͈̈́n̷̞̈́x̵̱͛ ̷͖͝ṃ̷̽x̵͎̎x̶̣͆ ̴͓͌s̸͖̾ĥ̴͓x̵̨͝x̷͇̍x̷̰̒x̴̥̄ ̶̗͝ḛ̵͑x̴̪͗x̷̫̕x̵̮̂ ̷̦̔k̷̭̇ṉ̴͝x̶̩͂x̴͉̕
̸̦̒S̵̛̖l̸̘̃x̶̲̕ẍ̷͔́x̷͔̎ ̵̨͘ẍ̷͙́x̵̙̂x̴̣̑ ̶̺̔c̶̼̉x̵͕͒x̵̭͌x̷̜͒x̷̜̀x̴̖̍ ̴̞͊x̵͎̋x̸̜̆ ̷̌͜x̴͍̑x̴̼̋x̵̭͛ ̸̻̇w̸̥͛ẍ̸̮́x̶̻̎x̸̡̾x̴̳̃x̶̢̔ ̵̘̀f̸̛͍x̶̲̑x̸̰̾x̶̟͘x̵̰̆x̷̪͛x̴̥̍,̵̲̅ ̷̬̑ş̷̏x̸̹͆x̸̲͌x̶̙̂x̸̰̂ȳ̴̡ ̸̙̉f̸̳̐x̵̢͒x̶̩̏ẋ̶̞x̸̖̋x̴̦̉x̴̼̾
̷̖̓W̸̗͘x̸̧͘x̸̠̍ ̸͍̿c̶̙͑x̵̢̊x̷͖̌ ̴͉͂ĕ̴̖x̶̨͆x̸̙̑x̵͎̓ẋ̸̣ ̶̜̕x̸͎̎x̸̛̬x̷̛̥ ̵̭̓r̶̛̜x̵̣͐x̶̗͐x̷̦́ ̸̨͝x̵̫̄ẍ̷͙́ ̷̠̽ṁ̵̨x̵̰͘ ̴̼̓ẻ̸̬x̶̟̊x̷̦̽x̵̨̄?̷̱̚
̸͔̈S̸̰̈́x̷͎̆x̷̦̑x̴̹̿x̵̲̌ ̷͖̒ḛ̷̏x̵̹͠x̴̞͠ẍ̸͈x̷̮̕x̴̬̽x̸̯̎x̵̖͊x̸̮̆x̶̧̋ ̵̺̐x̵̠̚x̷͖͠x̸̱́ ̷̯͆f̸̢̈x̵̧̃x̶̬͝x̵͖̔x̵͕̓ ̴̗͌x̴̖̅ẍ̶͍ ̵̮́r̸̬̀x̶̩̿x̶̯̃x̴̞̑x̶͖̀x̵̬̏x̴̝̍ ̴̺͐f̵̪͌x̶̰̚x̷̣̃ ̸͚̚x̷̺̔ ̶̤̄b̴̢͝ẍ̴̢́x̴̙̽x̴̝̀x̸̦͗x̴̫͆x̷̬͐ ̵̞̓x̶̬̉x̷̙̊ ̶͍̅x̶̦̾x̶͇̎x̸̫̒ ̴̨́ğ̸̮x̴̨̌x̸͇̓x̴͈͐x̷̥̍
̶̳͆W̴̞̆x̸͙̔x̶̫̀x̴͓̉x̴̙͋x̴̨̾x̶͔̓,̷̲͘ ̸͈̒p̴̙̈x̴̤̓x̷̲̽x̶̞͗x̶̭̀x̶̳͝x̷̰̾,̸̖̒ ̷̭͂w̶̗̓x̵̤͘x̸̛̲x̷̱̑x̴͉̉x̷̧͘ẋ̶̗,̴̭̕ ̸̡̓p̵͎̚x̸͕͗x̸͉͗x̸̡͝x̵͔͠x̷̩̂x̴̨͒,̶̢͌ ̶͇̀g̶̳͛x̶͖̔x̷̺͋x̴̫̓x̶̞͆x̴̛̻x̶̨̔,̵͓̇ ̸͙́b̵͖̈́ẋ̶̢x̴̤͗x̸͎̾x̴̚ͅx̷̪͒x̴̡̑ ̴͕͗ḟ̶̠x̸͍͐x̴̪̀ ̵͉͌Ÿ̸́ͅx̶̙͋x̴͛ͅx̷̣̊ ̷̦̚d̷̢̉x̸͓͝x̵̬̄x̶̙́ẍ̴̹́x̴̱͊x̶̜͋x̷̖̽x̷͓̄x̵̠̓x̷̦͘
̶̲̅
P̶o̸r̶t̶r̸a̷i̶t̵ ̶p̵a̷i̸n̷t̸e̵d̷ ̴w̷i̸t̸h̸ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̴b̶l̸o̵o̷d̶ ̶d̷r̵i̶p̷p̶i̷n̴g̶ ̶f̴r̶o̴m̶ ̸m̸y̴ ̴h̵a̴n̴d̷s̶,̸ ̶s̵u̵s̵p̵i̶a̸t̶e̸d̴ ̴w̴i̴t̸h̶ ̴r̵u̴s̴t̸ ̷i̴n̵ ̶t̸h̷e̸ ̴f̷r̸a̸m̶e̴
̶B̸e̸a̶r̶ ̴m̵y̷ ̸h̴e̵a̸r̵t̸ ̷i̵n̴t̴o̵ ̸t̷h̴e̴ ̸a̵c̵h̴e̵ ̷o̶f̷ ̸t̶h̷e̶ ̴a̶f̸t̷e̵r̴m̶a̶t̷h̴ ̴t̸h̵a̸t̷ ̶m̸e̵l̵l̸i̵f̷l̵u̷a̷t̸e̶s̷ ̶l̶u̸s̷t̵ ̶i̶n̴t̷o̵ ̸s̴h̷a̵m̸e̶
̴T̷i̵m̶e̴ ̸i̷s̴ ̵t̷h̴i̶r̸s̶t̶i̷n̵g̷ ̸f̷o̵r̶ ̶r̵e̷d̵e̸m̷p̶t̷i̷o̴n̷ ̷t̸h̴e̴s̶e̶ ̶f̵i̸n̸a̵l̴ ̶d̸a̶y̷s̶,̴ ̴p̵a̶l̴i̶n̷g̵e̴n̴e̶r̷a̸t̷e̸ ̷t̸r̷u̶s̴t̸ ̴i̷n̶ ̷Y̵o̶u̴r̵ ̶n̷a̶m̶e̷
̷D̶r̸a̸w̷ ̸m̸e̶ ̸d̶e̷e̵p̸ ̵i̵n̸t̸o̶ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̶l̷i̴g̷h̵t̸ ̶o̷f̵ ̶t̵h̸e̷ ̵m̵o̶r̵n̷i̷n̸g̸ ̵s̴t̵a̶r̸ ̸t̸h̸a̴t̵ ̷i̷n̴s̴u̸b̴l̶i̷m̵a̸t̸e̷s̷ ̶d̶u̷s̶t̷ ̸i̵n̸t̵o̴ ̷f̴l̸a̴m̴e̶
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5. |
IV, A. Perseus, Pristine
05:16
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[C]
Fear not the gorgon’s lair!
Riding righteous wings into the torrent.
Desire abhorrent be your enemy.
Cloaked in mystery beyond her sight.
Take up arms and fight unto the end of the world.
Blessed blade of holy virtue.
She can’t hurt you if you look aside.
Shield repelling her obscenity.
Putting enmity between the scion and the snake.
[R]
Let the bruised heel crush her head!
Tear out her forked tongue.
Liberate the horse and boar.
A crumbling empire, the ruins of ruinous lies.
Drink deep this holy anger,
Call down consuming fire.
Summon this armageddon for your anathema.
[W]
Hope is not lost, not while she still draws breath.
She is still beauty.
Hand to the sky, I pray revival over her…
Restoration for her.
Burn away our false perceptions,
Cauterize our ravenous eyes.
Let her live again.
She is still beautiful.
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6. |
IV, B. Perseus, Pyrrhic
07:52
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[K]
So the fingers point back.
The reciprocal is infinite.
This is what I have become.
The armageddon.
[M]
Write my poems in your skin.
Tear them out then start again.
Countless tries to be renewed.
Venom’s kiss your fate imbued.
[K]
Punch the number.
Pull the trigger.
The gavel and the axe will descend.
Tear the leather
From my fingers.
A mask for crimes I cannot defend.
I am the devil’s tools.
I am the devil’s house.
Begin the end.
Dismantle/disassemble.
I have seen what I am.
There is nothing I resemble.
[M]
Would you play the hero’s role?
Turn the sword and pierce your soul.
I am not the source of sin.
Seeds of hell sprout up within.
[P]
Sacred and profane out of the same mouth.
Bitter water flowing from a sweet spring.
Demons occupying this empty house.
Blasphemy and blessing intertwining.
[S]
Gorge and purge.
Binge and starve.
Devour the other.
Deride the beast.
Gorge and purge.
Binge and starve.
Return to vomit.
Renew the feast.
To me...to me...open shame.
To Thee...to Thee...mercy...
Lord, open my eyes.
I want to see You.
Lord, tear out my eyes
And take them with You.
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7. |
V. Braid of Ouroboros
12:41
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[L]
Return!
The touch of a ghost, deceived to feel.
A hundred devils’ liturgy I sing.
I lick the honey flung from your teeth.
Strip down, show me your true form.
A specter never seen.
[M]
I am a thousand cunning serpents
With two thousand gleaming eyes.
Run, run away.
I am there.
[R]
Self-devourer, she slithers rings around you.
She holds you tighter.
Every ounce of strength is struggle.
Exhausted fighter.
[S] / [P]
Close your sunken eyes. / Open up your eyes.
Bury her deep inside. / Wider than the sky.
Cloak her with false pride. / Dissipate the lie.
Lie with her beside. / From the darkness rise.
Someday she will hide. / Can’t you hear me cry?
Someday when you die. / Can’t you see the light?
[M]
You have soaked me in.
I am Bathsheba in the tub,
And the water in the bath.
I brought you inside.
Run, run to me.
I am here.
I am what you have become.
I am ten thousand raging serpents
With a million blazing eyes.
[A]
The Möbius strip.
The Lissajous curve.
I walk the same road, over and over.
I have been here before, and will come back again.
I’ve created my own world without end.
Amen.
Walk the circle.
The cycle.
The circle.
The endless cycle.
The circle.
The cycle.
Eternal circle.
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8. |
–. E Pur Lei Muore
03:29
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And
yet
she
dies.
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Potmos Hetoimos Baltimore, Maryland
PH is a (mostly) one-man prog/doom/jazz/ sludge/post-metal project from Baltimore, Maryland. PH focuses on music as storytelling, with the lyrics and concept being integral to the compositions.
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