The Wicked stand and applaud.
How dare they push me out
To suffer desolation?
Vengeful pleasures to torment…
The Wicked pay the price.
So fuck your desolation
And fuck your castigation
And fuck your indignation!
And fuck you all!
Your folly forsook your sight.
So fuck you all!
And wallow in your hopeless plight.
See The Innocent rise
Decked with broken, battle-scarred hearts
As medals on their sleeves
Not with pride… Poignant reminders
Of how they came to be.
Moving around… Shuffling…
Aimless ghosts like shells of those
Who went off to war
And never came home again…
Taunted, haunting only themselves.
There is a reason why
Our punches don’t land anywhere
In our dreams, and all we
Can feel is the constant shuffling…
Our chests heaving sighs of regretful exhaling.
Our hearts constantly break
Over and over again
From forgotten memories
And the heaviness of clinching
A void because it’s the only thing that hasn’t destroyed us….yet.
A man’s home is sacred.
A sacred sham which we create
In order to give the
Illusion of safety.
Sinking slowly, falling deeply, fading softly…
Pulse eroding, senses failing, thoughts escaping…
Visions of waters made bitter flood the place where my thoughts used to be.
A Raging Dream: A virgin screamed, and bleeding tempered grace,
Begat a shattered existence. Her boiling blood then embraced
Fawning parasitic fiends who nursed upon her soul.
They drank her essence, devoured her mind, and left the body cold.
If you can see my scars,
That means I have survived.
I feel like some pseudo savior,
But I haven’t yet proven I can save myself… Free myself.
The Keeper snakes out from his lair… Writhing, stalking
And is but a breath away.
He climbs up through my spine and whispers…"Forget your name.
We go to black." Repeat the cycle.
Evil exists. It's written in the Book of Man whose ink is drawn
From Lucifer's veins on parchment made of bones of false holy men.
Exploding of a false sun
Man has traded
Wonder for reason.
Every generation has created for itself
A child of light and a child of dark.
How are we to know the difference
When we destroy our force for feeling?
We sew the seeds of our salvation... Then water with damnation.
(Awakened from the dream:)
Infernal beings from raging dreams commence their sweet revenge
As tempered grace from entranced faces stumbles t’ward its end….
Crippling fear has paralyzed….The moonlight’s prelude groans
And I am left to dream of things that haunt me when you’re gone.
Distance feeds the primal cries…their chanting haunts the void
Within the pit…The incense burns, its sweet savours annoy
Fresh-pierced skin…the tepid blood drawn from innocent veins.
He speaks beyond the dawn of time and quakes in ancient pain.
Oft spoken word that echoes as a choral cry, begets confusion all alone
Presiding over dancing daemons and demands the heart needs to atone
Within regrets, a quenching thirst to understand lest all thought crushed
She dreads her heart shall beat alone yet cannot bleed enough.
New Zealand technical death outfit Ulcerate have often been praised for their innovative genre approach—but six albums into their discography, there's even greater strength in their consistency. Bandcamp Album of the Day Dec 20, 2016