Here is the ox, toiling under the sun
Cracking the earth, pulling in line
Beyond the sun's zenith, drowned in perspiration
What cruel mater propels it forward?
Bittersweet fruit from the lowest branch
The only prize fit for a fiend
The soil gets fed and cries out dismay
Laying stone until only bone remains
Thus kicked into a pit
Only mulch as comfort
Cast-out, crook-back leper
Burdened with shaking hands
Walls closing in as a sepulcher, curtain falling down as a guillotine
The soul is waiting, the neck is begging
Blackened hardcore with the sheer heady power of stadium crust and the glacial melodies of second-wave black metal. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 10, 2023