1. |
a eulogy of treachery
04:28
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You've captured the names of all raptures lost
Revel in all you haven't created but helped destroy
You credit yourself with the contingencies
as you crush them
under the striated space of the Empire
Your counterfeited mausoleums
Moving in a geography of deceit
A legacy falsely claimed
An impure altar to a hostile existence
You roam this wretched earth like a relentless plague
The wickedness you see is all of your making
Legitimate your heinous reign,
justify the enslavement with narratives of surrender
It carves out the heired sentence on afflicted skin
Tainted words to signify what was beyond language
You are a fraud and you live and thrive
on a sacred burial ground
Can't you hear the furies closing in?
The furies are hounding
You may run, you may hide but the furies are hounding
The furies are hounding
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2. |
a rhetoric of absence
04:11
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They feed on the symbols of crumbling empires and rotten kingdoms,
until they gag but it won't show, they choke but they will never know
Oh, them ghoulish adorers of trampled life,
“traitors” inscribed on their brows
The trappings of the colors, the cages of belonging
Motherless, a shattered self, meticulous alienation
From everything, everywhere
Estranged from space and its particles
An allegiance of optics as misguided evidence of ethics
Nothing traverses, nothing gets through,
but the crack is cavernous, a gaping crevasse
in which the sounds of revolution meets nothing,
but its own echo, thrown back at itself,
in defiance, then no more, a laconic silence
Abstruse to affects, embracing the absence
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3. |
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4. |
a discourse of supremacy
02:44
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Condemned to stare, baffled,
from a remote outside, a lone bystander
who has no grasp on the deeper reality of all living things
Unable to understand its lineage, its branching, its purpose,
Studied, surveyed, administered, alienated dominion
You are not worthy of its mercy
Failing to see its all encompassing beauty
Condemned to play out the role
of the modern vile gods that we proclaimed ourselves,
Our throne is but made of the scraps that we were deigned being given,
holding on to primeval myths of a glorious past that hardly ever was
Spectacular images in a free market of absurdities
There is mourning, but there is a war
And the options we are given need to be deserted
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5. |
a promise of retaliation
02:38
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Leave them to die
Throw their bodies to fuel the primordial fire
Scrub our skin with ashes to shed it behind
An icon defiled for all lives insulted
I am whittled out, hallowed receptacle
I’ll lose it all, a cleansing ritual
I know you, you grinning philistines
these teeth here in the dirt used to sit in your mouth
Your empty temples
Your gilded spires
I will claim my due,
I will return
I will return to expose your fraudulent enterprise
and take it all back to give it all up again
Monuments to villains, testaments of hate
Your work of blood is towering
And we live and die in its ghastly shadow
You are lost, you are no man of good
You are my broken brother
But I’m no brother’s keeper
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6. |
a declaration of war
04:11
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7. |
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A crepuscular future
Claw our way out, run for our lives
Destruction is a burning beacon
oh it’s burning bright, it’s burning bright
Manufacturing a postmodern hellscape
Hegemonic irony
Truth as a redundant concept
Day after day after day
Mediated relationship to the world is nothing but a logic of surrender
Neutralize dissemination except for the linguistics of defeat
The slow and steady dismantling
The grand theft of our imagination
Running scared, naked and ashamed
Crushed the will beyond recognition
Deprived of our body, our time, our mind,
we are the shell holes of the collapse of meaning
Finely crafted, from within, a retreat, a shameful withdrawal
The ultimate weapon of dispossession,
of mutual assured destruction
Operating in a post-ideological world
where Truth is a bold gamble
Meaning is the way we inhabit the world and how we’re meant to replenish the soil
Meaning is the brook, meaning is the river
Meaning is the woods that offer us shelter
Meaning is the smoke in the air
Meaning is the sparks flying off the pitchforks grinding on the whetting stone
Meaning is the disruption that drags us out of our torpor
Meaning is the price to be inescapably alive
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