LOADING DATA
Slutet
Members | |
---|---|
Current | |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Livrädd | Bass (2013-present) |
Rytterson | Drums (2013-present) |
Member(bands): Unknown | |
Dingir | Vocals (2013-present) |
Malkus 9 | Guitars (2015-present) |
Past | |
J. P. | Guitars (2013-2015) |
# | Discography | Type | Year | |
---|---|---|---|---|
1 | What the End of the World Looked Like | Demo | 2014 | Show album |
2 | ...and the Great Cunt Wept | Demo | 2014 | Show album |
3 | O Ziemia! | Demo | 2014 | Show album |
4 | Slutet | Compilation | 2015 | Show album |
5 | Jihad | EP | 2017 | Show album |
6 | Begynnelsen | Compilation | 2019 | Show album |
7 | Love & Beauty | Full-length | 2020 | Show album |
What the End of the World Looked Like
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Single-sided | |||
1. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:43 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 22:23 | Show lyrics |
Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped Beauty Sleep!!!!! |
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3. | Those Who Seek the World..../Old Blood Kapala (Epilogue) | 11:12 | Show lyrics |
The ugly sun reeks, slowly the ordure thaws in the heat Lepers crawl out of the darkness, they lost their eyes to it Their elated irises are swallowed by dreary distances The odours vibrate the hairs of every nostril to ever breathe They extend their tongues and contort them And in desperation trying to find clean strains of water or even plucking the last nutrience from the dung They worship the warm shit with bent tongues... Black blood whirlwinds flare across the stale horizon: I see clouds above their church crenelations, above their house-roofs I see clouds linger, brooding, over their guileless shoulders When they put their eyes upward, the clouds reflect upon them: Aloof, from the safe distance, they look tremendous, awe-inspiring But any sane mind would rip off the mask and unveil: Grey, hollow, withholding nothing but small chemical conflations Creating an illusive grandeur beyond their actual significance As above so below: The clouds are mirrors in the eyes of Man, as he gazes upward Human thought and value bound together fragily, just like them Unsubstantial, scattered thoughts arranged as a larger sheaf And spread out to all hungry, impoverished children starving! Here we have meaning! Here we have the deafening clangor of peace! Of righteousness! Of morality! Of the farthest reaches of this journey! We’ve all heard the constant bleating and moaning and weeping And complaining and brow-beating and all these self-important fools Freedom! Democracy! Worship it, for it sat down on the empty throne Now we can be "free" and happy together! As conscious as a family... We can be charitable, because with freedom comes respect With freedom comes love, hope and peace, and perhaps we can start over? Perhaps we can cure all depthless wounds on this abused body? ...But all the alms fail, and we are left with infection. Clap-clap! The curtain falls. Wake up. Freedom! Freedom! The chains fell to the ground they thought... Sirens! Sirens! They call out independence! Autonomy! So we’ve heard... They do not seek freedom, they would not want freedom! They rear away... Why would cattle, alone, venture into the dark night for fertile riverbeds? Here they have just enough water... ...The philosophy without a spine... Easily dispersed, just as mere clouds, by a thick, black smoke Rising out of the abyss of thought, and thus returning toward its epicentre This conflagrated sky is underpinned by weak timber Moth-eaten, black, feebly rooted in moist marshes And in these marshlands sabouteurs sow small fires Which, of course, with some mild assistance, grows larger Thus emitting a foul, thick, black smoke that scorches the clouds And from it, acid rain beckons the earth, much like Wormwood It intrudes holes, damages crops, sickens the cattle, It devours the pastures, it embitters the sweetest wines It poisons the wells and makes love with all this misery It will crush the mountains of thought as if they were piles of litter And from the ashes of these bonfires, new forests emerge And breaches gates to a new world, without murder, without pain Without degradation and the abuse of the shepherd’s crook In there, what alone exists is the bitter victory of genocide; the slaughtered pig of false hopes and self-deceit! Those who seek the world shall find a corpse And those who find a corpse shall be too good for this world. |
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36:18 |
...and the Great Cunt Wept
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Single-sided | |||
1. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:45 | Show lyrics |
DAY 1. SIRENS WAIL IN WEIRD, LOW FREQUENCIES, VIBRATING THE HAIRS ATTACHED TO SOMETHING WEAK AND DYING, UNAWARE OF ITS OWN RAGING SICKNESS. MIGHTY TEMPESTS ABROAD THE HORIZON GATHER TREACHEROUSLY IN STRENGTH, AND BENEATH THE CRUST, THE FIRES SCOLD THE EARTH’S FOUNDATION. SOME FEEL THE EARTH’S CORE SHIVER, AND THE STENCH OF WARM BLOOD; MOST, HOWEVER, FEEL SOME OTHER SHIT. BUT ALL IS SILENCE. THIS IS THE DAY THEIR LORD RESERVED FOR SACRED REST, WHICH IS BITTERLY SARCASTIC BECAUSE TODAY, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEIR PRECIOUS LORD... "TODAY WE’RE ALL HAPPY AND TODAY WE LAUGH; TODAY, WE DO NOT CARE ABOUT OUR PRECIOUS LORD; TODAY THE LORD CAN NOT DO A SINGLE THING FOR US! SO WE BRING DISGRACE OVER OUR LORD’S WORD". THE FIRST DAY IS THE DAY OF SILENCE. DAY 2. A NAUSEOUS STORM WHIPS THE GLOBE INTO FURY AND MADNESS; MOLOTOV COCKTAILS THROWN IN ARROGANT FACES. HUMAN FEET TRAMPLE THE BODIES OF THE POLICE; THE SCENT OF FUCKED HUMAN MEAT AND WARM ASPHALT. THOUSANDS OF BLACK SCREENS REPORT FROM THE FRONT LINES OF THE FINAL CATASTROPHE. THE MOB MOVES LIKE SCARED CATTLE, CHASED LIKE COWS INTO THE ABATTOIR. SKYSCRAPERS STAND AS IRONIC MONUMENTS OVER THE COMPLETE FAILURE AND DISRUPTION… THE WORLD LEADERS JOIN HANDS IN THE FOURTH CIRCLE OF HELL. ONLY THE CACOPHANY OF THE HORNETS AND LOCUSTS SHALL SOUND AT THE VERY END, ALONGSIDE THE NOISE OF DYING PEOPLE BLEEDING IN THE STREETS, CURSING THEIR COUNTRIES, THEIR BELOVED FLAGS, CONDEMNING THEIR ORIGINS IN BITTER CYNICISM AND HOPELESSNESS; THEIR EYES OBSERVE THE PLANET’S OWN LITTLE 9/11… THE SECOND DAY IS THE DAY OF THE DOWNFALL. DAY 3. THE TOTAL INDIFFERENCE OF THE EARTH TOWARDS ALL HUMAN LIFE BECOMES PAINFULLY APPARENT. SO, TRY TO BLOW YOUR HORNS - BLOW YOUR BRAZEN HORNS! ALL THERE IS IS SILENCE; THERE IS NO AIR LEFT... FROST WINDS FUCK THE EARTH UNTIL ITS CRUST IS ICE; THE THIRD DAY IS THE DAY OF CATASTROPHE DAY 4. YOUR FACE IS A DEAD SUN PUKING BLACK RAYS INSTEAD OF WARM LIGHT ACCOMPANIED BY THE EERIE SILENCE OF MUTE PEOPLE DYING. THE FOURTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DARKNESS. DAY 5. PILES OF HUMANS CONVULSE EPILEPTICALLY, LIKE INTIMATE LOVERS IN THEIR WARMEST MOMENT, SHUDDERING RETARDEDLY AT THE POETRY OF LIFE; THEY VOMIT WORDS IN EACH OTHERS FACES: THE SATIN BED OF THE WORLD, EMBROIDED WITH ALL IMAGINABLE BEAUTIES, IS DISCOLOURED WITH THE RADIANT BLOOD OF ALL BODIES SQUIRMING ON IT. THE FIFTH DAY IS THE DAY OF HYSTERIA AND THE FADING OF HOPE. DAY 6. SIRENS NOW WAIL IN DISTURBING OCTAVES, DEAFENING THE EARS OF ALL HOPEFUL CHILDREN. TERROR AND DARKNESS FOLDS IN THE ROBES OF TOMORROW: THE WISE START THEIR SOBBING REPENTENCE WHILE FOOLS STILL LINGER IN PASSIVE STATES OF TERROR. "FAST NOW! NOW WE NEED OUR LORD AT LAST!” CHOOSE YOUR FINAL SOLACE; PRAY TO WHATEVER SHIT GOD THAT PROMISES THE MOST PLEASANT PARADISE! IF THERE IS ANY DIGNITY LEFT IN THE HUMANS, MAY IT ALL DRIVE US TO SUICIDE. THE SIXTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DESPAIR. DAY 7. THE AURA OF ALL HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT GROWS DIM; MOTHER NATURE STRANGLES HER OWN THROAT... DEN SJUNDE DAGEN ÄR SLUTETS DAG. |
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2. | We Reap Our Crops... | 06:45 | Show lyrics |
WE THROW ROSES AND SMALL BIRDS INTO THE GAPING ABYSS AS A GESTURE OF SOLEMN GRATITUDE, LIKE PRIMITIVE MEN PAYING REVERED TRIBUTE TO THE SPIRIT OF A GREAT, GREAT ENEMY; WE OFFER OUR BODIES TO THAT GREAT, MONSTROUS DEPTH, PROCLAIMING IN A MANTRIC THROBBING OF THE VOCAL CHORDS A MOST SINCERE RESPECT TO THE MAGN-IFICENT DEVIL THAT ALMOST SWALLOWED US WHOLE. THE LINE BETWEEN WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH CUTS OUR BATTERED HEARTS IN TWO; CAN WE, THEN, ENDURE THE YOKE WE HAVE HUNG OVER OUR SWEAT-STAINED, BRUISING SHOULDERS? WE RETREAT DAY BY DAY TO AN OVERPOWERING ENEMY, BUT THE SPOILS ARE GREAT RICHES WE CAN NOT IMAGINE FOR OURSELVES A LIFE WITHOUT. IGNOMINY MATES WITH TRIUMPH AND THUS LIFE IS BEGOTTEN; WHEN DARKNESS REARS ITS UGLY FACE TOWARDS MINE, I FEEL! I CARVE MY INSIGNIA INTO MY OWN WHITE FLESH; MY GENITALS EVOKE A PROFOUND REPULSION; I DISTURB THIS UNENVIABLE SHROUD OF FLESH - THIS SWOLLEN MASS, THIS PINK SKIN, THESE OVARIES, THIS CERVIX, UTERUS AND CLITORIS...THESE FRAIL STRAWS OF BLONDE HAIR PROTRUDING FROM MY ITCHING SCALP... THIS REFLECTION SEEMS TO DISDAIN BOTH ME AND YOU ALL. NOW; LET THE WARTHOGS OF HUMANITY BROWSE THROUGH THE SHIT OF OUR STINKING LATRINES; LET THE SWINE DRINK FROM THE RIVERS OF THEIR OWN ACIDIC VOMIT ALONG WHOSE BANKS WE WALK. YOUR MOTHER CRY TEARS ON YOUR STINKING CADAVER, LIKE A PAID WHORE. YOU DO NOT EVOKE A PROFOUND SENSE OF SELF-RESPECT… YOU FEEL SHALLOW. WE REAP OUR CROPS IN YOUR CULTURE’S WINDTHROWS. |
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3. | Father of Broken Spines | 06:54 | Show lyrics |
POISONOUS PLANTS GROW NAKED OUT OF PARCHED SOIL TO THE SOUND OF FIFTY STILLBORN CHILDREN STILL SHRIEKING AND SCREAMING AND GASPING AT THE UTTERLY TERRIFYING ORDEAL OF A FIRST BREATH OF AIR UNFIT TO BREATHE; AIR DENSENED BY THE PANICKED CRAMPING INDUCED BY MOSS WRAPPING ITS BLANKET AROUND WHITE SKIN AS ROOTS DESCEND TO STRANGLE THE SCREAMING KIN. THEY SCREAM BUT THEIR SCREAMS DROWN IN THE GREAT SILENCE OF THE STILLBORN. WITH HEADS TOO HEAVY TO HANG OFF OF A NECK COILED BY VENOMOUS SNAKES - THREE SEASONS SPENT TURNING EYES TOWARDS THE SUN. CRAWLING ON THE HILLTOPS WITH BROKEN SPINES - BLOOD VOMIT; FECAL EYES; PSYCHOSOMATIC PARALYSIS . . . YOUR SCREAMS TURN INTO WHISPERS AND WHISPERS INTO MOLESTING, DISTURBING VIBRATIONS, DROWNING IN THE WET DREAM OF SOLACE AND HAPPINESS; THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A VORTEX; THE VIEW FROM A TOWER THAT FELL… AND AS THEY STARE INTO THE SUN, ALAS! THE MORE THEY STARE, THE MORE IT APPEARS TO BE AN ABSENCE! BUT HOW MANY TEARS WILL RUN AND HOW MANY CRIES WILL SHIVER, WHEN THEY FIND OUT THEY ARE LIVING ON A MERE PROMISE; WHEN THEY HAVE BEEN CHASED OUT IN THE STEPPES OF GODSPEED ONLY TO FIND IT DARK, COLD AND BARREN? …AND THEY WILL CRAWL, AND THEY WILL SEARCH AND THEY WILL HOLD THEIR CROSS, THEIR STAR, THEIR CRESCENT MOON… THE STILLBORN CLEANSE THEIR ASSHOLES FROM SPIRITUAL FAECES… AND THEY WILL PRAY, BUT THEY WILL FIND ONLY THAT WEAK FLOWER GROWING OUT OF IT, CALLED BLIND FAITH. THEY WILL SEE IT, AND THEY WILL FALL IN GENUFLEXION AFORE IT. THEY WILL ADMIRE ITS BEAUTY A MOMENT BEFORE IT TURNS TO ASH, DEVOURED BY THE ELEMENTS THAT ONCE GAVE ITS LIFE. THE GOD THAT PAUL CREATED IS A NEG-ATION OF THE GOD EXPERIENCED. |
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4. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | Show lyrics |
HERE WE HAVE THE LEPERS! A HUNDRED BODIES MOVING AS ONE. SNEAKING TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, WALKING CROUCHED IN THE DITCHES BESIDE THE ROYAL CHARIOTS; BESIDE THE CARAVANS OF WORTHY PEOPLE, LIKE SICK CATTLE. EVICTED FROM EYES, CONDEMNED TO A FILTHY CORNER OF ALL MINDS; THE FEATURELESS FACE IN THE MOVED AUDIENCE: THEY NEARLY SUFFOCATE TO DEATH BY EACH MINUTE. THEIR UNFINISHED YAWNS COLOUR EMPTY FACES IN WEIRD TONES. THE VIRGINS MOCK THEMSELVES WITH OWN FINGERS. THE BLESSING HAND RETRACTS AND THE PALM CLOSES. THEY COVER THEIR GENITALIA IN FETID GALL AND PROCEED TO LOVE SLUM HOUNDS, AS THEY DO WITH MEN. THE BEASTS CONQUER THEIR MOIST VAGINAS - BESTIAL SEMEN COLOUR THEIR INTRUDED HOLES. TORRENTIAL SPOUTS OF BLOOD-CLOTTED PLASMA. THEIR PROLAPSED WOMBS MOANING LIKE A MILIARD ORGANS. THIS IS THE BIRTH-SITE OF DEPRAVATION, WHERE IT’S MOTHER WRITHES IN LABOUR! THIS IS ALL SOURCE OF DEPRAVATION; WHERE PEOPLE LIVE BY IDEALS THAT ARE NOT THEIR OWN, AND WHERE THEY HAVE SUNKEN SLOWLY INTO THE QUICK-SANDS OF PASSIVE CONSENT, AND WORSE YET IS THE MOST HIDEOUS SUBLEVEL OF THIS DEPRAVATION; THE CESSPOOL WHERE VOICES DO NOT RING LOUD, AND THE FLAMING TONGUES WANE IN THE COLD AIR, WHERE SELF-DECEIT AND SELF-LOVE UNITE IN A MOST ABSURD, DOWNRIGHT TASTELESS MATRIMONY. THEIR FEET STAND ON MURKY GROUND; THEIR FEET ALL SINK INTO THE ORDURE; THEIR WOMBS ARE BARREN, AND THEY STUTTER LAMENT. BENT-OPEN MOUTHS HAVE HAD THEIR TEETH SMASHED OUT; BODIES ARE RAPED OF SO-CALLED BEAUTY SLEEP. THEY FALTER THROUGH LIVING WORLDS AND AT THE SIGHT OF IT, SHED TEARS AND SOB. RAZOR WINDS BLOT PORTALS, BLOOD AND DIRT AND THEY ARE TERRIFIED! THEY CAN NOT BEAR THE WEIGHT OF TRUTH BECAUSE THEY FEEL PAIN WHEN THEIR ILLUSIONS SHATTER LIKE GLASS MIRRORS, ONCE REFLECTING THEIR UGLY FACES BUT NOW THE SHARDS CUT THEIR PINK FLESH; BLOOD SPURTS OUT; TEARS FALL; LIES SMOTHER, ALL GIVES WAY TO SUFFERING – FOR THESE YOKES ARE HEAVY, AND THEY CRUSH OUR SHOULDERS TO DUST, LEST ONE PREPARE. BUT THIS IS NOT THEIR LIFE! THIS IS A RIVER DELTA OF UNFULFILLED HOPES - CRUSHING DESPAIRS - THE RUIN OF FAILURE AND DESERTION; THEY CAN NOT YET SEE ALL THEIR EMBERS BUT THEY ALL KNOW IT IS THERE SOMEWHERE; A LU-MINOUS SUN IN THE DARKNESS. NOW! CONSUMED BY THE RETICENCE OF ALL DESERTS, IN VISIONS. THE SCENT OF CATASTROPHE EVER PERVADING THEIR NOSTRILS. THE VISION OF IMPENDING DOOM EVER BEFALLING THEIR EYES. THE TASTE OF EMBITTERED GALL EVER CONTAMINATING THEIR TONGUES. THE SOUND OF HOLOCAUST EVER DRONING THEIR EARS… THEIR WHOLE LIFES BECAME ACTS OF REBELLION; THEIR COMPLETE EXISTENCES ARE LIKE RAZOR BLADES RESTING DANGEROUSLY ON THE WRISTS OF TOMORROW’S CHILDREN... RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP… |
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36:34 |
O Ziemia!
Tracks | |||
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Single-sided | |||
1. | Mull | 10:42 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
32:46 |
Slutet
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
---|---|---|---|---|
June 2015 | Teratology Sound & Vision | Cassette | Limited edition | |
February 9th, 2016 | Psychedelic Lotus Order | WAXGOAT035 | Digital | Bandcamp |
March 2016 | GoatowaRex | WAXGOAT035 | 12" vinyl | Limited edition |
May 21st, 2018 | Manifest of Hate Creations | MOH 009 | Cassette | Limited edition |
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Seven Days of the Weak | 10:42 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | We Reap Our Crops... | 06:45 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
Side B | |||
4. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:43 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
53:24 |
Jihad
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
---|---|---|---|---|
April 2nd, 2017 | Independent | TEC-08 | Digital | |
October 15th, 2017 | GoatowaRex | WAXGOAT-074 | 12" vinyl | |
October 26th, 2017 | Manifest of Hate Creations | 006 | Cassette | |
December 4th, 2017 | Manifest of Hate Creations | 006 | Cassette | |
April 5th, 2020 | Manifest of Hate Creations | 006 | Cassette | Limited edition |
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
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2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
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26:22 |
Begynnelsen
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
---|---|---|---|---|
February 5th, 2019 | Behest | 2CD | A5 booklet, Limited edition | |
February 5th, 2019 | Independent | Digital |
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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Disc 1 | |||
1. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 22:45 | Show lyrics |
(RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP) Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped beauty sleep. |
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3. | Those Who Seek the World... / Old Blood Kapala (Epilogue) | 11:13 | Show lyrics |
(THOSE WHO SEEK THE WORLD) The ugly sun reeks, slowly the ordure thaws in the heat Lepers crawl out of the darkness, they lost their eyes to it Their elated irises are swallowed by dreary distances The odours vibrate the hairs of every nostril to ever breathe They extend their tongues and contort them And in desperation trying to find clean strains of water or even plucking the last nutrience from the dung They worship the warm shit with bent tongues... Black blood whirlwinds flare across the stale horizon: I see clouds above their church crenelations, above their house-roofs I see clouds linger, brooding, over their guileless shoulders When they put their eyes upward, the clouds reflect upon them: Aloof, from the safe distance, they look tremendous, awe-inspiring But any sane mind would rip off the mask and unveil: Grey, hollow, withholding nothing but small chemical conflations Creating an illusive grandeur beyond their actual significance As above so below: The clouds are mirrors in the eyes of Man, as he gazes upward Human thought and value bound together fragily, just like them Unsubstantial, scattered thoughts arranged as a larger sheaf And spread out to all hungry, impoverished children starving! Here we have meaning! Here we have the deafening clangor of peace! Of righteousness! Of morality! Of the farthest reaches of this journey! We’ve all heard the constant bleating and moaning and weeping And complaining and brow-beating and all these self-important fools Freedom! Democracy! Worship it, for it sat down on the empty throne Now we can be "free" and happy together! As conscious as a family... We can be charitable, because with freedom comes respect With freedom comes love, hope and peace, and perhaps we can start over? Perhaps we can cure all depthless wounds on this abused body? ...But all the alms fail, and we are left with infection. Clap-clap! The curtain falls. Wake up. Freedom! Freedom! The chains fell to the ground they thought... Sirens! Sirens! They call out independence! Autonomy! So we’ve heard... They do not seek freedom, they would not want freedom! They rear away... Why would cattle, alone, venture into the dark night for fertile riverbeds? Here they have just enough water... ...The philosophy without a spine... Easily dispersed, just as mere clouds, by a thick, black smoke Rising out of the abyss of thought, and thus returning toward its epicentre This conflagrated sky is underpinned by weak timber Moth-eaten, black, feebly rooted in moist marshes And in these marshlands sabouteurs sow small fires Which, of course, with some mild assistance, grows larger Thus emitting a foul, thick, black smoke that scorches the clouds And from it, acid rain beckons the earth, much like Wormwood It intrudes holes, damages crops, sickens the cattle, It devours the pastures, it embitters the sweetest wines It poisons the wells and makes love with all this misery It will crush the mountains of thought as if they were piles of litter And from the ashes of these bonfires, new forests emerge And breaches gates to a new world, without murder, without pain Without degradation and the abuse of the shepherd’s crook In there, what alone exists is the bitter victory of genocide; the slaughtered pig of false hopes and self-deceit! Those who seek the world shall find a corpse And those who find a corpse shall be too good for this world. |
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4. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:46 | Show lyrics |
(SEVEN DAYS OF THE WEAK) DAY 1. SIRENS WAIL IN WEIRD, LOW FREQUENCIES, VIBRATING THE HAIRS ATTACHED TO SOMETHING WEAK AND DYING, UNAWARE OF ITS OWN RAGING SICKNESS. MIGHTY TEMPESTS ABROAD THE HORIZON GATHER TREACHEROUSLY IN STRENGTH, AND BENEATH THE CRUST, THE FIRES SCOLD THE EARTH’S FOUNDATION. SOME FEEL THE EARTH’S CORE SHIVER, AND THE STENCH OF WARM BLOOD; MOST, HOWEVER, FEEL SOME OTHER SHIT. BUT ALL IS SILENCE. THIS IS THE DAY THEIR LORD RESERVED FOR SACRED REST, WHICH IS BITTERLY SARCASTIC BECAUSE TODAY, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEIR PRECIOUS LORD... "TODAY WE’RE ALL HAPPY AND TODAY WE LAUGH; TODAY, WE DO NOT CARE ABOUT OUR PRECIOUS LORD; TODAY THE LORD CAN NOT DO A SINGLE THING FOR US! SO WE BRING DISGRACE OVER OUR LORD’S WORD". THE FIRST DAY IS THE DAY OF SILENCE. DAY 2. A NAUSEOUS STORM WHIPS THE GLOBE INTO FURY AND MADNESS; MOLOTOV COCKTAILS THROWN IN ARROGANT FACES. HUMAN FEET TRAMPLE THE BODIES OF THE POLICE; THE SCENT OF FUCKED HUMAN MEAT AND WARM ASPHALT. THOUSANDS OF BLACK SCREENS REPORT FROM THE FRONT LINES OF THE FINAL CATASTROPHE. THE MOB MOVES LIKE SCARED CATTLE, CHASED LIKE COWS INTO THE ABATTOIR. SKYSCRAPERS STAND AS IRONIC MONUMENTS OVER THE COMPLETE FAILURE AND DISRUPTION… THE WORLD LEADERS JOIN HANDS IN THE FOURTH CIRCLE OF HELL. ONLY THE CACOPHANY OF THE HORNETS AND LOCUSTS SHALL SOUND AT THE VERY END, ALONGSIDE THE NOISE OF DYING PEOPLE BLEEDING IN THE STREETS, CURSING THEIR COUNTRIES, THEIR BELOVED FLAGS, CONDEMNING THEIR ORIGINS IN BITTER CYNICISM AND HOPELESSNESS; THEIR EYES OBSERVE THE PLANET’S OWN LITTLE 9/11… THE SECOND DAY IS THE DAY OF THE DOWNFALL. DAY 3. THE TOTAL INDIFFERENCE OF THE EARTH TOWARDS ALL HUMAN LIFE BECOMES PAINFULLY APPARENT. SO, TRY TO BLOW YOUR HORNS - BLOW YOUR BRAZEN HORNS! ALL THERE IS IS SILENCE; THERE IS NO AIR LEFT... FROST WINDS FUCK THE EARTH UNTIL ITS CRUST IS ICE; THE THIRD DAY IS THE DAY OF CATASTROPHE DAY 4. YOUR FACE IS A DEAD SUN PUKING BLACK RAYS INSTEAD OF WARM LIGHT ACCOMPANIED BY THE EERIE SILENCE OF MUTE PEOPLE DYING. THE FOURTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DARKNESS. DAY 5. PILES OF HUMANS CONVULSE EPILEPTICALLY, LIKE INTIMATE LOVERS IN THEIR WARMEST MOMENT, SHUDDERING RETARDEDLY AT THE POETRY OF LIFE; THEY VOMIT WORDS IN EACH OTHERS FACES: THE SATIN BED OF THE WORLD, EMBROIDED WITH ALL IMAGINABLE BEAUTIES, IS DISCOLOURED WITH THE RADIANT BLOOD OF ALL BODIES SQUIRMING ON IT. THE FIFTH DAY IS THE DAY OF HYSTERIA AND THE FADING OF HOPE. DAY 6. SIRENS NOW WAIL IN DISTURBING OCTAVES, DEAFENING THE EARS OF ALL HOPEFUL CHILDREN. TERROR AND DARKNESS FOLDS IN THE ROBES OF TOMORROW: THE WISE START THEIR SOBBING REPENTENCE WHILE FOOLS STILL LINGER IN PASSIVE STATES OF TERROR. "FAST NOW! NOW WE NEED OUR LORD AT LAST!” CHOOSE YOUR FINAL SOLACE; PRAY TO WHATEVER SHIT GOD THAT PROMISES THE MOST PLEASANT PARADISE! IF THERE IS ANY DIGNITY LEFT IN THE HUMANS, MAY IT ALL DRIVE US TO SUICIDE. THE SIXTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DESPAIR. DAY 7. THE AURA OF ALL HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT GROWS DIM; MOTHER NATURE STRANGLES HER OWN THROAT... DEN SJUNDE DAGEN ÄR SLUTETS DAG. |
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5. | We Reap Our Crops... | 06:45 | Show lyrics |
(WE REAP OUR CROPS...) WE THROW ROSES AND SMALL BIRDS INTO THE GAPING ABYSS AS A GESTURE OF SOLEMN GRATITUDE, LIKE PRIMITIVE MEN PAYING REVERED TRIBUTE TO THE SPIRIT OF A GREAT, GREAT ENEMY; WE OFFER OUR BODIES TO THAT GREAT, MONSTROUS DEPTH, PROCLAIMING IN A MANTRIC THROBBING OF THE VOCAL CHORDS A MOST SINCERE RESPECT TO THE MAGN-IFICENT DEVIL THAT ALMOST SWALLOWED US WHOLE. THE LINE BETWEEN WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH CUTS OUR BATTERED HEARTS IN TWO; CAN WE, THEN, ENDURE THE YOKE WE HAVE HUNG OVER OUR SWEAT-STAINED, BRUISING SHOULDERS? WE RETREAT DAY BY DAY TO AN OVERPOWERING ENEMY, BUT THE SPOILS ARE GREAT RICHES WE CAN NOT IMAGINE FOR OURSELVES A LIFE WITHOUT. IGNOMINY MATES WITH TRIUMPH AND THUS LIFE IS BEGOTTEN; WHEN DARKNESS REARS ITS UGLY FACE TOWARDS MINE, I FEEL! I CARVE MY INSIGNIA INTO MY OWN WHITE FLESH; MY GENITALS EVOKE A PROFOUND REPULSION; I DISTURB THIS UNENVIABLE SHROUD OF FLESH - THIS SWOLLEN MASS, THIS PINK SKIN, THESE OVARIES, THIS CERVIX, UTERUS AND CLITORIS...THESE FRAIL STRAWS OF BLONDE HAIR PROTRUDING FROM MY ITCHING SCALP... THIS REFLECTION SEEMS TO DISDAIN BOTH ME AND YOU ALL. NOW; LET THE WARTHOGS OF HUMANITY BROWSE THROUGH THE SHIT OF OUR STINKING LATRINES; LET THE SWINE DRINK FROM THE RIVERS OF THEIR OWN ACIDIC VOMIT ALONG WHOSE BANKS WE WALK. YOUR MOTHER CRY TEARS ON YOUR STINKING CADAVER, LIKE A PAID WHORE. YOU DO NOT EVOKE A PROFOUND SENSE OF SELF-RESPECT… YOU FEEL SHALLOW. WE REAP OUR CROPS IN YOUR CULTURE’S WINDTHROWS. |
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6. | Father of Broken Spines | 06:54 | Show lyrics |
(FATHER OF BROKEN SPINES) POISONOUS PLANTS GROW NAKED OUT OF PARCHED SOIL TO THE SOUND OF FIFTY STILLBORN CHILDREN STILL SHRIEKING AND SCREAMING AND GASPING AT THE UTTERLY TERRIFYING ORDEAL OF A FIRST BREATH OF AIR UNFIT TO BREATHE; AIR DENSENED BY THE PANICKED CRAMPING INDUCED BY MOSS WRAPPING ITS BLANKET AROUND WHITE SKIN AS ROOTS DESCEND TO STRANGLE THE SCREAMING KIN. THEY SCREAM BUT THEIR SCREAMS DROWN IN THE GREAT SILENCE OF THE STILLBORN. WITH HEADS TOO HEAVY TO HANG OFF OF A NECK COILED BY VENOMOUS SNAKES - THREE SEASONS SPENT TURNING EYES TOWARDS THE SUN. CRAWLING ON THE HILLTOPS WITH BROKEN SPINES - BLOOD VOMIT; FECAL EYES; PSYCHOSOMATIC PARALYSIS . . . YOUR SCREAMS TURN INTO WHISPERS AND WHISPERS INTO MOLESTING, DISTURBING VIBRATIONS, DROWNING IN THE WET DREAM OF SOLACE AND HAPPINESS; THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A VORTEX; THE VIEW FROM A TOWER THAT FELL… AND AS THEY STARE INTO THE SUN, ALAS! THE MORE THEY STARE, THE MORE IT APPEARS TO BE AN ABSENCE! BUT HOW MANY TEARS WILL RUN AND HOW MANY CRIES WILL SHIVER, WHEN THEY FIND OUT THEY ARE LIVING ON A MERE PROMISE; WHEN THEY HAVE BEEN CHASED OUT IN THE STEPPES OF GODSPEED ONLY TO FIND IT DARK, COLD AND BARREN? …AND THEY WILL CRAWL, AND THEY WILL SEARCH AND THEY WILL HOLD THEIR CROSS, THEIR STAR, THEIR CRESCENT MOON… THE STILLBORN CLEANSE THEIR ASSHOLES FROM SPIRITUAL FAECES… AND THEY WILL PRAY, BUT THEY WILL FIND ONLY THAT WEAK FLOWER GROWING OUT OF IT, CALLED BLIND FAITH. THEY WILL SEE IT, AND THEY WILL FALL IN GENUFLEXION AFORE IT. THEY WILL ADMIRE ITS BEAUTY A MOMENT BEFORE IT TURNS TO ASH, DEVOURED BY THE ELEMENTS THAT ONCE GAVE ITS LIFE. THE GOD THAT PAUL CREATED IS A NEG-ATION OF THE GOD EXPERIENCED. |
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7. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | Show lyrics |
(RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP) Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped beauty sleep. |
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01:13:17 | |||
Disc 2 | |||
1. | Mull | 10:43 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | Show lyrics |
(O ZIEMIA!) [Figure it out. Improvised upon recording; no-one really knows.] |
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3. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
(MATCH QUESTIONS - GASOLINE TRUTH) all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth; everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death --- kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family, with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life... the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just a harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an absurd existence; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep, deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just this harrowing angst of responsibility. |
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4. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
(GODDESS OF PARADOX (TIAMAT YAWNS AWAKE)) goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage - withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of society. goddess of weirdness and ambiguity whom casts her leather noose and strikes with her thunders and weathers; through that weird, disturbing static; existential white noise; we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and we share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
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59:09 |
Love & Beauty
Album versions
Release date | Label | Catalog ID | Format | Description |
---|---|---|---|---|
August 10th, 2020 | Independent | TEC16 | Digital | |
August 20th, 2020 | Behest | CD | Limited edition | |
October 2020 | Death Shadow Records | DEATH SHADOW - 035 | Cassette | Limited edition |
November 13th, 2020 | Manifest of Hate Creations | MOH 015 | Cassette | Limited edition |
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals, Lyrics |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Sperm-Spitting Mouth | 11:03 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Hurricane Ingrid | 07:25 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Indo-European Storm | 15:02 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Love & Beauty | 14:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | The Gloomy Ride of the Scythian War Queen Across the Eternal Steppe | 08:54 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
6. | Uppsala (Love Letter to Pfizer) | 14:56 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
01:12:04 |
Slutet
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Seven Days of the Weak | 10:42 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | We Reap Our Crops... | 06:45 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
Side B | |||
4. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:43 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
53:24 |
Slutet
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:45 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:42 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
47:41 |
Slutet
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:45 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
Side B | |||
3. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:42 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
47:41 |
Slutet
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:45 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | We Reap Our Crops... | ||
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
Side B | |||
4. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:42 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
47:41 |
Jihad
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
26:22 |
Jihad
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
26:22 |
Jihad
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
Side B | |||
1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
26:22 |
Jihad
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
Side B | |||
1. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
2. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
26:22 |
Jihad
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Abu Bakr al-Uppsalahi | Lyrics |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
|||
2. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
|||
Side B | |||
1. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage, withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of modern society and as if the ocean had a heart and as if the scaled mother tremor awake we stream like blood from the offing; black, foul, yet, vibrant in the veins blue, throbbing like a pulse of death to her name, goddess of weirdness and ambiguity from the bottomless pit with floor of granith, absconding to the surface claw-torn, like poison gas, Aleppo, Damascus; we rise, albeit slow, through slough, like war ants marching homeward eternally. through that weird, disturbing static some call life, some call the inescapable, torturous culpability of consciousness we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
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2. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth - everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death - kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life, the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an existence accursed; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses no solace no fucking circumstances just the harrowing angst of responsibility. |
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26:22 |
Begynnelsen
Members | |
---|---|
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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Disc 1 | |||
1. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 22:45 | Show lyrics |
(RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP) Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped beauty sleep. |
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3. | Those Who Seek the World... / Old Blood Kapala (Epilogue) | 11:13 | Show lyrics |
(THOSE WHO SEEK THE WORLD) The ugly sun reeks, slowly the ordure thaws in the heat Lepers crawl out of the darkness, they lost their eyes to it Their elated irises are swallowed by dreary distances The odours vibrate the hairs of every nostril to ever breathe They extend their tongues and contort them And in desperation trying to find clean strains of water or even plucking the last nutrience from the dung They worship the warm shit with bent tongues... Black blood whirlwinds flare across the stale horizon: I see clouds above their church crenelations, above their house-roofs I see clouds linger, brooding, over their guileless shoulders When they put their eyes upward, the clouds reflect upon them: Aloof, from the safe distance, they look tremendous, awe-inspiring But any sane mind would rip off the mask and unveil: Grey, hollow, withholding nothing but small chemical conflations Creating an illusive grandeur beyond their actual significance As above so below: The clouds are mirrors in the eyes of Man, as he gazes upward Human thought and value bound together fragily, just like them Unsubstantial, scattered thoughts arranged as a larger sheaf And spread out to all hungry, impoverished children starving! Here we have meaning! Here we have the deafening clangor of peace! Of righteousness! Of morality! Of the farthest reaches of this journey! We’ve all heard the constant bleating and moaning and weeping And complaining and brow-beating and all these self-important fools Freedom! Democracy! Worship it, for it sat down on the empty throne Now we can be "free" and happy together! As conscious as a family... We can be charitable, because with freedom comes respect With freedom comes love, hope and peace, and perhaps we can start over? Perhaps we can cure all depthless wounds on this abused body? ...But all the alms fail, and we are left with infection. Clap-clap! The curtain falls. Wake up. Freedom! Freedom! The chains fell to the ground they thought... Sirens! Sirens! They call out independence! Autonomy! So we’ve heard... They do not seek freedom, they would not want freedom! They rear away... Why would cattle, alone, venture into the dark night for fertile riverbeds? Here they have just enough water... ...The philosophy without a spine... Easily dispersed, just as mere clouds, by a thick, black smoke Rising out of the abyss of thought, and thus returning toward its epicentre This conflagrated sky is underpinned by weak timber Moth-eaten, black, feebly rooted in moist marshes And in these marshlands sabouteurs sow small fires Which, of course, with some mild assistance, grows larger Thus emitting a foul, thick, black smoke that scorches the clouds And from it, acid rain beckons the earth, much like Wormwood It intrudes holes, damages crops, sickens the cattle, It devours the pastures, it embitters the sweetest wines It poisons the wells and makes love with all this misery It will crush the mountains of thought as if they were piles of litter And from the ashes of these bonfires, new forests emerge And breaches gates to a new world, without murder, without pain Without degradation and the abuse of the shepherd’s crook In there, what alone exists is the bitter victory of genocide; the slaughtered pig of false hopes and self-deceit! Those who seek the world shall find a corpse And those who find a corpse shall be too good for this world. |
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4. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:46 | Show lyrics |
(SEVEN DAYS OF THE WEAK) DAY 1. SIRENS WAIL IN WEIRD, LOW FREQUENCIES, VIBRATING THE HAIRS ATTACHED TO SOMETHING WEAK AND DYING, UNAWARE OF ITS OWN RAGING SICKNESS. MIGHTY TEMPESTS ABROAD THE HORIZON GATHER TREACHEROUSLY IN STRENGTH, AND BENEATH THE CRUST, THE FIRES SCOLD THE EARTH’S FOUNDATION. SOME FEEL THE EARTH’S CORE SHIVER, AND THE STENCH OF WARM BLOOD; MOST, HOWEVER, FEEL SOME OTHER SHIT. BUT ALL IS SILENCE. THIS IS THE DAY THEIR LORD RESERVED FOR SACRED REST, WHICH IS BITTERLY SARCASTIC BECAUSE TODAY, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEIR PRECIOUS LORD... "TODAY WE’RE ALL HAPPY AND TODAY WE LAUGH; TODAY, WE DO NOT CARE ABOUT OUR PRECIOUS LORD; TODAY THE LORD CAN NOT DO A SINGLE THING FOR US! SO WE BRING DISGRACE OVER OUR LORD’S WORD". THE FIRST DAY IS THE DAY OF SILENCE. DAY 2. A NAUSEOUS STORM WHIPS THE GLOBE INTO FURY AND MADNESS; MOLOTOV COCKTAILS THROWN IN ARROGANT FACES. HUMAN FEET TRAMPLE THE BODIES OF THE POLICE; THE SCENT OF FUCKED HUMAN MEAT AND WARM ASPHALT. THOUSANDS OF BLACK SCREENS REPORT FROM THE FRONT LINES OF THE FINAL CATASTROPHE. THE MOB MOVES LIKE SCARED CATTLE, CHASED LIKE COWS INTO THE ABATTOIR. SKYSCRAPERS STAND AS IRONIC MONUMENTS OVER THE COMPLETE FAILURE AND DISRUPTION… THE WORLD LEADERS JOIN HANDS IN THE FOURTH CIRCLE OF HELL. ONLY THE CACOPHANY OF THE HORNETS AND LOCUSTS SHALL SOUND AT THE VERY END, ALONGSIDE THE NOISE OF DYING PEOPLE BLEEDING IN THE STREETS, CURSING THEIR COUNTRIES, THEIR BELOVED FLAGS, CONDEMNING THEIR ORIGINS IN BITTER CYNICISM AND HOPELESSNESS; THEIR EYES OBSERVE THE PLANET’S OWN LITTLE 9/11… THE SECOND DAY IS THE DAY OF THE DOWNFALL. DAY 3. THE TOTAL INDIFFERENCE OF THE EARTH TOWARDS ALL HUMAN LIFE BECOMES PAINFULLY APPARENT. SO, TRY TO BLOW YOUR HORNS - BLOW YOUR BRAZEN HORNS! ALL THERE IS IS SILENCE; THERE IS NO AIR LEFT... FROST WINDS FUCK THE EARTH UNTIL ITS CRUST IS ICE; THE THIRD DAY IS THE DAY OF CATASTROPHE DAY 4. YOUR FACE IS A DEAD SUN PUKING BLACK RAYS INSTEAD OF WARM LIGHT ACCOMPANIED BY THE EERIE SILENCE OF MUTE PEOPLE DYING. THE FOURTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DARKNESS. DAY 5. PILES OF HUMANS CONVULSE EPILEPTICALLY, LIKE INTIMATE LOVERS IN THEIR WARMEST MOMENT, SHUDDERING RETARDEDLY AT THE POETRY OF LIFE; THEY VOMIT WORDS IN EACH OTHERS FACES: THE SATIN BED OF THE WORLD, EMBROIDED WITH ALL IMAGINABLE BEAUTIES, IS DISCOLOURED WITH THE RADIANT BLOOD OF ALL BODIES SQUIRMING ON IT. THE FIFTH DAY IS THE DAY OF HYSTERIA AND THE FADING OF HOPE. DAY 6. SIRENS NOW WAIL IN DISTURBING OCTAVES, DEAFENING THE EARS OF ALL HOPEFUL CHILDREN. TERROR AND DARKNESS FOLDS IN THE ROBES OF TOMORROW: THE WISE START THEIR SOBBING REPENTENCE WHILE FOOLS STILL LINGER IN PASSIVE STATES OF TERROR. "FAST NOW! NOW WE NEED OUR LORD AT LAST!” CHOOSE YOUR FINAL SOLACE; PRAY TO WHATEVER SHIT GOD THAT PROMISES THE MOST PLEASANT PARADISE! IF THERE IS ANY DIGNITY LEFT IN THE HUMANS, MAY IT ALL DRIVE US TO SUICIDE. THE SIXTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DESPAIR. DAY 7. THE AURA OF ALL HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT GROWS DIM; MOTHER NATURE STRANGLES HER OWN THROAT... DEN SJUNDE DAGEN ÄR SLUTETS DAG. |
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5. | We Reap Our Crops... | 06:45 | Show lyrics |
(WE REAP OUR CROPS...) WE THROW ROSES AND SMALL BIRDS INTO THE GAPING ABYSS AS A GESTURE OF SOLEMN GRATITUDE, LIKE PRIMITIVE MEN PAYING REVERED TRIBUTE TO THE SPIRIT OF A GREAT, GREAT ENEMY; WE OFFER OUR BODIES TO THAT GREAT, MONSTROUS DEPTH, PROCLAIMING IN A MANTRIC THROBBING OF THE VOCAL CHORDS A MOST SINCERE RESPECT TO THE MAGN-IFICENT DEVIL THAT ALMOST SWALLOWED US WHOLE. THE LINE BETWEEN WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH CUTS OUR BATTERED HEARTS IN TWO; CAN WE, THEN, ENDURE THE YOKE WE HAVE HUNG OVER OUR SWEAT-STAINED, BRUISING SHOULDERS? WE RETREAT DAY BY DAY TO AN OVERPOWERING ENEMY, BUT THE SPOILS ARE GREAT RICHES WE CAN NOT IMAGINE FOR OURSELVES A LIFE WITHOUT. IGNOMINY MATES WITH TRIUMPH AND THUS LIFE IS BEGOTTEN; WHEN DARKNESS REARS ITS UGLY FACE TOWARDS MINE, I FEEL! I CARVE MY INSIGNIA INTO MY OWN WHITE FLESH; MY GENITALS EVOKE A PROFOUND REPULSION; I DISTURB THIS UNENVIABLE SHROUD OF FLESH - THIS SWOLLEN MASS, THIS PINK SKIN, THESE OVARIES, THIS CERVIX, UTERUS AND CLITORIS...THESE FRAIL STRAWS OF BLONDE HAIR PROTRUDING FROM MY ITCHING SCALP... THIS REFLECTION SEEMS TO DISDAIN BOTH ME AND YOU ALL. NOW; LET THE WARTHOGS OF HUMANITY BROWSE THROUGH THE SHIT OF OUR STINKING LATRINES; LET THE SWINE DRINK FROM THE RIVERS OF THEIR OWN ACIDIC VOMIT ALONG WHOSE BANKS WE WALK. YOUR MOTHER CRY TEARS ON YOUR STINKING CADAVER, LIKE A PAID WHORE. YOU DO NOT EVOKE A PROFOUND SENSE OF SELF-RESPECT… YOU FEEL SHALLOW. WE REAP OUR CROPS IN YOUR CULTURE’S WINDTHROWS. |
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6. | Father of Broken Spines | 06:54 | Show lyrics |
(FATHER OF BROKEN SPINES) POISONOUS PLANTS GROW NAKED OUT OF PARCHED SOIL TO THE SOUND OF FIFTY STILLBORN CHILDREN STILL SHRIEKING AND SCREAMING AND GASPING AT THE UTTERLY TERRIFYING ORDEAL OF A FIRST BREATH OF AIR UNFIT TO BREATHE; AIR DENSENED BY THE PANICKED CRAMPING INDUCED BY MOSS WRAPPING ITS BLANKET AROUND WHITE SKIN AS ROOTS DESCEND TO STRANGLE THE SCREAMING KIN. THEY SCREAM BUT THEIR SCREAMS DROWN IN THE GREAT SILENCE OF THE STILLBORN. WITH HEADS TOO HEAVY TO HANG OFF OF A NECK COILED BY VENOMOUS SNAKES - THREE SEASONS SPENT TURNING EYES TOWARDS THE SUN. CRAWLING ON THE HILLTOPS WITH BROKEN SPINES - BLOOD VOMIT; FECAL EYES; PSYCHOSOMATIC PARALYSIS . . . YOUR SCREAMS TURN INTO WHISPERS AND WHISPERS INTO MOLESTING, DISTURBING VIBRATIONS, DROWNING IN THE WET DREAM OF SOLACE AND HAPPINESS; THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A VORTEX; THE VIEW FROM A TOWER THAT FELL… AND AS THEY STARE INTO THE SUN, ALAS! THE MORE THEY STARE, THE MORE IT APPEARS TO BE AN ABSENCE! BUT HOW MANY TEARS WILL RUN AND HOW MANY CRIES WILL SHIVER, WHEN THEY FIND OUT THEY ARE LIVING ON A MERE PROMISE; WHEN THEY HAVE BEEN CHASED OUT IN THE STEPPES OF GODSPEED ONLY TO FIND IT DARK, COLD AND BARREN? …AND THEY WILL CRAWL, AND THEY WILL SEARCH AND THEY WILL HOLD THEIR CROSS, THEIR STAR, THEIR CRESCENT MOON… THE STILLBORN CLEANSE THEIR ASSHOLES FROM SPIRITUAL FAECES… AND THEY WILL PRAY, BUT THEY WILL FIND ONLY THAT WEAK FLOWER GROWING OUT OF IT, CALLED BLIND FAITH. THEY WILL SEE IT, AND THEY WILL FALL IN GENUFLEXION AFORE IT. THEY WILL ADMIRE ITS BEAUTY A MOMENT BEFORE IT TURNS TO ASH, DEVOURED BY THE ELEMENTS THAT ONCE GAVE ITS LIFE. THE GOD THAT PAUL CREATED IS A NEG-ATION OF THE GOD EXPERIENCED. |
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7. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | Show lyrics |
(RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP) Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped beauty sleep. |
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01:13:17 | |||
Disc 2 | |||
1. | Mull | 10:43 | instrumental |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | Show lyrics |
(O ZIEMIA!) [Figure it out. Improvised upon recording; no-one really knows.] |
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3. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
(MATCH QUESTIONS - GASOLINE TRUTH) all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth; everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death --- kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family, with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life... the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just a harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an absurd existence; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep, deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just this harrowing angst of responsibility. |
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4. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
(GODDESS OF PARADOX (TIAMAT YAWNS AWAKE)) goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage - withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of society. goddess of weirdness and ambiguity whom casts her leather noose and strikes with her thunders and weathers; through that weird, disturbing static; existential white noise; we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and we share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
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59:09 |
Begynnelsen
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
J. P. | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
1. | Old Blood Kapala (Prologue) | 02:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 22:45 | Show lyrics |
(RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP) Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped beauty sleep. |
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3. | Those Who Seek the World... / Old Blood Kapala (Epilogue) | 11:13 | Show lyrics |
(THOSE WHO SEEK THE WORLD) The ugly sun reeks, slowly the ordure thaws in the heat Lepers crawl out of the darkness, they lost their eyes to it Their elated irises are swallowed by dreary distances The odours vibrate the hairs of every nostril to ever breathe They extend their tongues and contort them And in desperation trying to find clean strains of water or even plucking the last nutrience from the dung They worship the warm shit with bent tongues... Black blood whirlwinds flare across the stale horizon: I see clouds above their church crenelations, above their house-roofs I see clouds linger, brooding, over their guileless shoulders When they put their eyes upward, the clouds reflect upon them: Aloof, from the safe distance, they look tremendous, awe-inspiring But any sane mind would rip off the mask and unveil: Grey, hollow, withholding nothing but small chemical conflations Creating an illusive grandeur beyond their actual significance As above so below: The clouds are mirrors in the eyes of Man, as he gazes upward Human thought and value bound together fragily, just like them Unsubstantial, scattered thoughts arranged as a larger sheaf And spread out to all hungry, impoverished children starving! Here we have meaning! Here we have the deafening clangor of peace! Of righteousness! Of morality! Of the farthest reaches of this journey! We’ve all heard the constant bleating and moaning and weeping And complaining and brow-beating and all these self-important fools Freedom! Democracy! Worship it, for it sat down on the empty throne Now we can be "free" and happy together! As conscious as a family... We can be charitable, because with freedom comes respect With freedom comes love, hope and peace, and perhaps we can start over? Perhaps we can cure all depthless wounds on this abused body? ...But all the alms fail, and we are left with infection. Clap-clap! The curtain falls. Wake up. Freedom! Freedom! The chains fell to the ground they thought... Sirens! Sirens! They call out independence! Autonomy! So we’ve heard... They do not seek freedom, they would not want freedom! They rear away... Why would cattle, alone, venture into the dark night for fertile riverbeds? Here they have just enough water... ...The philosophy without a spine... Easily dispersed, just as mere clouds, by a thick, black smoke Rising out of the abyss of thought, and thus returning toward its epicentre This conflagrated sky is underpinned by weak timber Moth-eaten, black, feebly rooted in moist marshes And in these marshlands sabouteurs sow small fires Which, of course, with some mild assistance, grows larger Thus emitting a foul, thick, black smoke that scorches the clouds And from it, acid rain beckons the earth, much like Wormwood It intrudes holes, damages crops, sickens the cattle, It devours the pastures, it embitters the sweetest wines It poisons the wells and makes love with all this misery It will crush the mountains of thought as if they were piles of litter And from the ashes of these bonfires, new forests emerge And breaches gates to a new world, without murder, without pain Without degradation and the abuse of the shepherd’s crook In there, what alone exists is the bitter victory of genocide; the slaughtered pig of false hopes and self-deceit! Those who seek the world shall find a corpse And those who find a corpse shall be too good for this world. |
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4. | Seven Days of the Weak | 11:46 | Show lyrics |
(SEVEN DAYS OF THE WEAK) DAY 1. SIRENS WAIL IN WEIRD, LOW FREQUENCIES, VIBRATING THE HAIRS ATTACHED TO SOMETHING WEAK AND DYING, UNAWARE OF ITS OWN RAGING SICKNESS. MIGHTY TEMPESTS ABROAD THE HORIZON GATHER TREACHEROUSLY IN STRENGTH, AND BENEATH THE CRUST, THE FIRES SCOLD THE EARTH’S FOUNDATION. SOME FEEL THE EARTH’S CORE SHIVER, AND THE STENCH OF WARM BLOOD; MOST, HOWEVER, FEEL SOME OTHER SHIT. BUT ALL IS SILENCE. THIS IS THE DAY THEIR LORD RESERVED FOR SACRED REST, WHICH IS BITTERLY SARCASTIC BECAUSE TODAY, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEIR PRECIOUS LORD... "TODAY WE’RE ALL HAPPY AND TODAY WE LAUGH; TODAY, WE DO NOT CARE ABOUT OUR PRECIOUS LORD; TODAY THE LORD CAN NOT DO A SINGLE THING FOR US! SO WE BRING DISGRACE OVER OUR LORD’S WORD". THE FIRST DAY IS THE DAY OF SILENCE. DAY 2. A NAUSEOUS STORM WHIPS THE GLOBE INTO FURY AND MADNESS; MOLOTOV COCKTAILS THROWN IN ARROGANT FACES. HUMAN FEET TRAMPLE THE BODIES OF THE POLICE; THE SCENT OF FUCKED HUMAN MEAT AND WARM ASPHALT. THOUSANDS OF BLACK SCREENS REPORT FROM THE FRONT LINES OF THE FINAL CATASTROPHE. THE MOB MOVES LIKE SCARED CATTLE, CHASED LIKE COWS INTO THE ABATTOIR. SKYSCRAPERS STAND AS IRONIC MONUMENTS OVER THE COMPLETE FAILURE AND DISRUPTION… THE WORLD LEADERS JOIN HANDS IN THE FOURTH CIRCLE OF HELL. ONLY THE CACOPHANY OF THE HORNETS AND LOCUSTS SHALL SOUND AT THE VERY END, ALONGSIDE THE NOISE OF DYING PEOPLE BLEEDING IN THE STREETS, CURSING THEIR COUNTRIES, THEIR BELOVED FLAGS, CONDEMNING THEIR ORIGINS IN BITTER CYNICISM AND HOPELESSNESS; THEIR EYES OBSERVE THE PLANET’S OWN LITTLE 9/11… THE SECOND DAY IS THE DAY OF THE DOWNFALL. DAY 3. THE TOTAL INDIFFERENCE OF THE EARTH TOWARDS ALL HUMAN LIFE BECOMES PAINFULLY APPARENT. SO, TRY TO BLOW YOUR HORNS - BLOW YOUR BRAZEN HORNS! ALL THERE IS IS SILENCE; THERE IS NO AIR LEFT... FROST WINDS FUCK THE EARTH UNTIL ITS CRUST IS ICE; THE THIRD DAY IS THE DAY OF CATASTROPHE DAY 4. YOUR FACE IS A DEAD SUN PUKING BLACK RAYS INSTEAD OF WARM LIGHT ACCOMPANIED BY THE EERIE SILENCE OF MUTE PEOPLE DYING. THE FOURTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DARKNESS. DAY 5. PILES OF HUMANS CONVULSE EPILEPTICALLY, LIKE INTIMATE LOVERS IN THEIR WARMEST MOMENT, SHUDDERING RETARDEDLY AT THE POETRY OF LIFE; THEY VOMIT WORDS IN EACH OTHERS FACES: THE SATIN BED OF THE WORLD, EMBROIDED WITH ALL IMAGINABLE BEAUTIES, IS DISCOLOURED WITH THE RADIANT BLOOD OF ALL BODIES SQUIRMING ON IT. THE FIFTH DAY IS THE DAY OF HYSTERIA AND THE FADING OF HOPE. DAY 6. SIRENS NOW WAIL IN DISTURBING OCTAVES, DEAFENING THE EARS OF ALL HOPEFUL CHILDREN. TERROR AND DARKNESS FOLDS IN THE ROBES OF TOMORROW: THE WISE START THEIR SOBBING REPENTENCE WHILE FOOLS STILL LINGER IN PASSIVE STATES OF TERROR. "FAST NOW! NOW WE NEED OUR LORD AT LAST!” CHOOSE YOUR FINAL SOLACE; PRAY TO WHATEVER SHIT GOD THAT PROMISES THE MOST PLEASANT PARADISE! IF THERE IS ANY DIGNITY LEFT IN THE HUMANS, MAY IT ALL DRIVE US TO SUICIDE. THE SIXTH DAY IS THE DAY OF DESPAIR. DAY 7. THE AURA OF ALL HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT GROWS DIM; MOTHER NATURE STRANGLES HER OWN THROAT... DEN SJUNDE DAGEN ÄR SLUTETS DAG. |
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5. | We Reap Our Crops... | 06:45 | Show lyrics |
(WE REAP OUR CROPS...) WE THROW ROSES AND SMALL BIRDS INTO THE GAPING ABYSS AS A GESTURE OF SOLEMN GRATITUDE, LIKE PRIMITIVE MEN PAYING REVERED TRIBUTE TO THE SPIRIT OF A GREAT, GREAT ENEMY; WE OFFER OUR BODIES TO THAT GREAT, MONSTROUS DEPTH, PROCLAIMING IN A MANTRIC THROBBING OF THE VOCAL CHORDS A MOST SINCERE RESPECT TO THE MAGN-IFICENT DEVIL THAT ALMOST SWALLOWED US WHOLE. THE LINE BETWEEN WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH CUTS OUR BATTERED HEARTS IN TWO; CAN WE, THEN, ENDURE THE YOKE WE HAVE HUNG OVER OUR SWEAT-STAINED, BRUISING SHOULDERS? WE RETREAT DAY BY DAY TO AN OVERPOWERING ENEMY, BUT THE SPOILS ARE GREAT RICHES WE CAN NOT IMAGINE FOR OURSELVES A LIFE WITHOUT. IGNOMINY MATES WITH TRIUMPH AND THUS LIFE IS BEGOTTEN; WHEN DARKNESS REARS ITS UGLY FACE TOWARDS MINE, I FEEL! I CARVE MY INSIGNIA INTO MY OWN WHITE FLESH; MY GENITALS EVOKE A PROFOUND REPULSION; I DISTURB THIS UNENVIABLE SHROUD OF FLESH - THIS SWOLLEN MASS, THIS PINK SKIN, THESE OVARIES, THIS CERVIX, UTERUS AND CLITORIS...THESE FRAIL STRAWS OF BLONDE HAIR PROTRUDING FROM MY ITCHING SCALP... THIS REFLECTION SEEMS TO DISDAIN BOTH ME AND YOU ALL. NOW; LET THE WARTHOGS OF HUMANITY BROWSE THROUGH THE SHIT OF OUR STINKING LATRINES; LET THE SWINE DRINK FROM THE RIVERS OF THEIR OWN ACIDIC VOMIT ALONG WHOSE BANKS WE WALK. YOUR MOTHER CRY TEARS ON YOUR STINKING CADAVER, LIKE A PAID WHORE. YOU DO NOT EVOKE A PROFOUND SENSE OF SELF-RESPECT… YOU FEEL SHALLOW. WE REAP OUR CROPS IN YOUR CULTURE’S WINDTHROWS. |
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6. | Father of Broken Spines | 06:54 | Show lyrics |
(FATHER OF BROKEN SPINES) POISONOUS PLANTS GROW NAKED OUT OF PARCHED SOIL TO THE SOUND OF FIFTY STILLBORN CHILDREN STILL SHRIEKING AND SCREAMING AND GASPING AT THE UTTERLY TERRIFYING ORDEAL OF A FIRST BREATH OF AIR UNFIT TO BREATHE; AIR DENSENED BY THE PANICKED CRAMPING INDUCED BY MOSS WRAPPING ITS BLANKET AROUND WHITE SKIN AS ROOTS DESCEND TO STRANGLE THE SCREAMING KIN. THEY SCREAM BUT THEIR SCREAMS DROWN IN THE GREAT SILENCE OF THE STILLBORN. WITH HEADS TOO HEAVY TO HANG OFF OF A NECK COILED BY VENOMOUS SNAKES - THREE SEASONS SPENT TURNING EYES TOWARDS THE SUN. CRAWLING ON THE HILLTOPS WITH BROKEN SPINES - BLOOD VOMIT; FECAL EYES; PSYCHOSOMATIC PARALYSIS . . . YOUR SCREAMS TURN INTO WHISPERS AND WHISPERS INTO MOLESTING, DISTURBING VIBRATIONS, DROWNING IN THE WET DREAM OF SOLACE AND HAPPINESS; THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A VORTEX; THE VIEW FROM A TOWER THAT FELL… AND AS THEY STARE INTO THE SUN, ALAS! THE MORE THEY STARE, THE MORE IT APPEARS TO BE AN ABSENCE! BUT HOW MANY TEARS WILL RUN AND HOW MANY CRIES WILL SHIVER, WHEN THEY FIND OUT THEY ARE LIVING ON A MERE PROMISE; WHEN THEY HAVE BEEN CHASED OUT IN THE STEPPES OF GODSPEED ONLY TO FIND IT DARK, COLD AND BARREN? …AND THEY WILL CRAWL, AND THEY WILL SEARCH AND THEY WILL HOLD THEIR CROSS, THEIR STAR, THEIR CRESCENT MOON… THE STILLBORN CLEANSE THEIR ASSHOLES FROM SPIRITUAL FAECES… AND THEY WILL PRAY, BUT THEY WILL FIND ONLY THAT WEAK FLOWER GROWING OUT OF IT, CALLED BLIND FAITH. THEY WILL SEE IT, AND THEY WILL FALL IN GENUFLEXION AFORE IT. THEY WILL ADMIRE ITS BEAUTY A MOMENT BEFORE IT TURNS TO ASH, DEVOURED BY THE ELEMENTS THAT ONCE GAVE ITS LIFE. THE GOD THAT PAUL CREATED IS A NEG-ATION OF THE GOD EXPERIENCED. |
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7. | Raped Beauty Sleep | 11:10 | Show lyrics |
(RAPED BEAUTY SLEEP) Here we have the lepers! A hundred bodies moving as one, sneaking to the side of the road, walking crouched in the ditches beside the royal chariots, beside the caravans of worthy people, like sick cattle, evicted from eyes, condemned to a filthy corner of all minds; the featureless face in the moved audience: They nearly suffocate to death by each minute Their unfinished yawns colour empty faces in weird tones... Their virgins mock themselves with own fingers The Blessing Hand retracts and the palm closes They cover their genitalia in fetid gall And proceed to love slum hounds, as they do with men The beasts conquer their moist vaginas Bestial semen colour their intruded holes Torrential spouts of blood-clotted plasma Their prolapsed wombs moaning like a miliard organs... This is the birth-site of depravation, where its mother writhes in labour! This is all source of depravation; where people live by ideals that are not their own, and where they have sunken slowly into quick-sands of passive consent, and worse yet is the most hideous sublevel of this depravation; the cesspool where voices do not ring loud, and the flaming tongues wane in the cold air, where self-deceit and self-love unite in a most absurd, downright tasteless matrimony... Their feet stand on murky ground; their feet all sink into the ordure their wombs are barren, and they stutter lament Bent-open mouths have had their teeth smashed out Bodies are raped of so-called beauty sleep. They falter through living worlds and at the sight of it, shed tears and sob Razor winds blot portals, blood and dirt, and they are terrified They can not bear the weight of truth because they feel pain when their illusions shatter like glass mirrors, once reflecting their ugly faces but now the shards cut their pink flesh; blood spurts out; tears fall; lies smother, all gives way to suffering - for these yokes are heavy, and they crush our shoulders to dust, lest one prepare... But this is not their life! This is a river delta of unfulfilled hopes, crushing despairs, the ruin of failure and desertion; they can not yet see all their embers but they all know it is there somewhere; a luminous sun in the darkness. Now! Consumed by the reticence of all deserts, in visions, The scent of catastrophe ever pervading their nostrils The vision of impending doom ever befalling their eyes The taste of embittered gall ever contaminating their tongues The sound of holocaust hooves ever droning their ears Their whole lifes became acts of rebellion; their complete existences are like razor blades resting dangerously on the wrists of tomorrow’s children... Raped beauty sleep. |
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8. | Mull | 10:43 | instrumental |
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9. | O Ziemia! | 22:04 | Show lyrics |
(O ZIEMIA!) [Figure it out. Improvised upon recording; no-one really knows.] |
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10. | Match Questions - Gasoline Truth | 09:55 | Show lyrics |
(MATCH QUESTIONS - GASOLINE TRUTH) all of our wonders, fortified strongholds steles, and pillars, and temples of the earth; everything will crumble; all empires fall; every gene, every cell, every synapse every last helix of the human DNA will surely be cleansed with death --- kingdom after kingdom after kingdom perish; martyrs of gluttony, apostate emperors, usurpers of the ruby crown will quiver in the quagmires of the sludgy vagina out of which we have crawled as a family, with the filth of birth as our only common denominator, but with every fucking choice we make and every fucking thought we think as the differentiator that rips open an abyss between us that separates us; isolates us in the complete solicitude and loneliness of existence, the horror, the curse of life... the massive conspiracy against all that breathed and will ever breathe; so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just a harrowing angst of responsibility. hypnotized ad nauseam by the pendulum of doubt that oscillates between nothing and something we are ’til death, and sunburnt to crisps of cancer proliferating existential melanoma under the raving nihil sun we feel sick; weak; shivering, and we perspire cold sweat; and we throw up from the whiffs of the effluvia of fear and trembling belched from the pharynx of life we have felt increasing like lyme disease since our inception now, many years ago; we throw our nets from towed boats and watch them sink deep in oceans of questions and we carve ourselves a totem in situ out of the megalith of an absurd existence; however, life is merely the parable of truth, and many plankton escape the fishers’ net; many meshes are sawn asunder by the ferocious teeth of viperfish, and to this day, no one knows what really is down there, we just know there is something, deep, deep in the deep sea graves of life, life, life - the horrible disease, the bitter prognosis... ...what the fuck will happen when all spiritual antibiotics fail, and the sickness will carress our embarrassed shoulders in tasteless mockery? welcome it, or walk forever in circles: the complete dissolution of the human emotional-intellectual immune system; reason, logic, laws - fuck off - the cunt devours mercilessly- so, choose your death! for it is all that we do... choose your death, destroy yourself; can you really do anything else? no excuses, no solace, no fucking circumstances just this harrowing angst of responsibility. |
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11. | Goddess of Paradox (Tiamat Yawns Awake) | 16:27 | Show lyrics |
(GODDESS OF PARADOX (TIAMAT YAWNS AWAKE)) goddess of contradiction and paradox absconds like mustard gas over trenches and barbed wire and plucks the roses of beauty and war; her cock shone with blinding radiance through the prism of a hundred ravaged vaginas; she leashed her men in collars, sold her women as whores, strangled the children in acts of love and buried them deep in the graves of tradition they had dug fiercly with their own hands... they walked in chains, in lines, psychotic, babbling, like madmen, like lepers, or like amputees in field hospitals amidst the chaos of war or novices of alchemy entrenched in mudpits of debt and misery eager as fuck to find a way out, at last, of the maze they have brick-built around themselves and while the children wept tears of semen, the men sought prosperity through means of spellcraft, the women gave themselves away, and the dogs were eager to mount them; nothing but the bitter recollection of abortion - the motherly despair of hugging farewell a miscarriage - withstood the erosion of memory, and she carved its memoir deep on the steles of existential dementia and abandon they subsequently rose on the graves and on the tombs of their beloved, remembered dead... she fingered the harps whose strings snapped and begot worlds which morphed around the axis of madness and spiritual intifada; her hands fingered the chaos vulva, abyss of endless possibilites; she, the bearer of iron, withstood it all and declared war on the morality of society. goddess of weirdness and ambiguity whom casts her leather noose and strikes with her thunders and weathers; through that weird, disturbing static; existential white noise; we float like spirits whose tempers been challenged by obnoxious mediums, faux soothsayers, so-called "psychics" pushing the borders to something they do not at all understand; we invite these people to swim in the shark-infested waters they falsely call turf; at the behest of our own compass we tremble within our very atomic structure and we share the starlit sleep, the satin bed, with Inanna, the beautiful, the warring, and we wake up to the sound and the smell of her fingering her luscious vulva. she raises her wet hand to the sea, dripping - Tiamat yawns awake. |
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02:12:26 |
Love & Beauty
Members | |
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Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals, Lyrics |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Sperm-Spitting Mouth | 11:03 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Hurricane Ingrid | 07:25 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Indo-European Storm | 15:02 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Love & Beauty | 14:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | The Gloomy Ride of the Scythian War Queen Across the Eternal Steppe | 08:54 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
6. | Uppsala (Love Letter to Pfizer) | 14:56 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
01:12:04 |
Love & Beauty
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals, Lyrics |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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1. | Sperm-Spitting Mouth | 11:03 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Hurricane Ingrid | 07:25 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Indo-European Storm | 15:02 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
4. | Love & Beauty | 14:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | The Gloomy Ride of the Scythian War Queen Across the Eternal Steppe | 08:54 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
6. | Uppsala (Love Letter to Pfizer) | 14:56 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
01:12:04 |
Love & Beauty
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals, Lyrics |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
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Side A | |||
1. | Sperm-Spitting Mouth | 11:03 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Hurricane Ingrid | 07:25 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Indo-European Storm | 15:02 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
Side B | |||
4. | Love & Beauty | 14:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | The Gloomy Ride of the Scythian War Queen Across the Eternal Steppe | 08:54 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
6. | Uppsala (Love Letter to Pfizer) | 14:56 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
01:12:04 |
Love & Beauty
Members | |
---|---|
Original line-up | |
Band members | |
Livrädd | Bass |
Rytterson | Drums |
Dingir | Vocals, Lyrics |
Malkus 9 | Guitars |
Tracks | |||
---|---|---|---|
Side A | |||
1. | Sperm-Spitting Mouth | 11:03 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
2. | Hurricane Ingrid | 07:25 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
3. | Indo-European Storm | 15:02 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
Side B | |||
4. | Love & Beauty | 14:44 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
5. | The Gloomy Ride of the Scythian War Queen Across the Eternal Steppe | 08:54 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
6. | Uppsala (Love Letter to Pfizer) | 14:56 | |
(loading lyrics...) | |||
01:12:04 |
Band ascii art
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