1. |
No Sacred Life
02:39
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2. |
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Call continents
To fall upon you
We Flee to yawning graves
And their grinning stones
Disease and decay
Coil with blood and vein
From temple to tomb
Only the groaning nothing
To claim you
Altar of concrete gray
to the green fly, red ant
Bloated temple bleached by
A swollen sun;
It dims with every rising
Only the groaning nothing
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3. |
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With serpents
I tie sailors knots
Coils of cold scales
a gaping noose
Drink venom
bleeding from fangs
of ouroboros
This Howling Malediction
Toward endless return
From seed
To blood
From death
To dust
Life;
The sum of wasted days
Spinning in endless return
Mastered by the Tyrant Serpent
Condemned to endless return.
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4. |
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Count the ribs of the dogs in the streets
Blessings of strays outweigh the inheritance of man
These are the days of the meek
Our cities: leper colonies
Machine oiled in blood
Ziggurats rust in arrogance—
Point to empty heaven
This is the legacy of man:
Lapped up by rats and dogs in the gutter
Abandoned
Forgotten
A rusted and bloodied
Hell
Count the ribs of the dog
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Vøid Wørship
Vøid Wørship has no interest in being identified by genre or other arbitrary and contrived classification. It is the collective ambition of Vøid Wørship to be described in terms of emotional state and elicited response: fear, sadness, and violence.
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