Obsequious grunt. Lick the boot that kicks the face.
Obsequious grunt. Easiest to ignor the truth.
Sightless bore. Painful, dull apathy.
Sightless bore. Uninspired mockery.
Obsequious grunt, sightless bore. Tepid, shallow, unabhorred.
Wander fitfully from start to end until the days will turn, the time will come.
A conclusion that has since the first been forgone.
Go on until there’s naught to do but squabble over the remaining scraps of hope.
Divisive din will crack the ground below.
Feel it pulse. Feel it bend. Feel it break. Feel the fall.
Say goodbye to what was known.
Enter with fear into this new place called home.
Track Name: Chthonic Dream
Empty times swirl and boil. Desire to wretch. Ending soon to spoil and rot.
Ready the funeral. We’re tired of this.
Generations of feeling that all this is ours.
Piles of track to act as a mirror and still feel secure.
Darkness envelops the whole.
How will it feel? Dying with thirst. Shaking with fear.
Consume to death.
Consuming to die.
Subsuming the lie.
Track Name: The Way
Am I an abattoir?
Am I a safe haven?
I am despair.
I am hope.
I lead astray and towards and through.
I am a fractal image composed of disparate parts.
I am all.
I am encompassing.
I am dismissive.
I am enduring and I am endured and I must be faced.