(that says Father)
The lyrics are:
we've grown blighted!
blight runs to the very roots of our community
death! dying! dead! deceased!
wind rushes, threshing through brown grasses
parched fingers plant the seeds of hope
prayers! praying! prayers for fruition!
the earth's cranium still grows desolate
the climax of intellectual deprivation
I've finished a second track, entitled "The Glories Of A Freer Youth," which still needs to be recorded, lyrics:
A land of horrid wilting, and fragrant rot
Home to lepers and others plagued
Where decay reigns absolute
A bleak and desolate world
Where hope is for murder
Where faith is believing
That we will all one day die
Wilted herbalism rife with blight
In a land of corpses; various states of decay
Where carrion birds circle in the heavens above
Where crawling things burrow from the ground below
The haggard grin of un-death smiles upon our world
This ragged state of being is what we have become
We are dying, slowly, wilting away, as soulless husks
Drinking the lifeblood of this Earth
AND I'm currently working on a third song entitled, "My Journey Through Haleth With The Gaurwaith"
At some point, which I cannot recognize,
Came to be a war 'tween comradery and illicity.
Give as I might, I care not, but I digress, I am the leach.
I am, I despise.
But in this I find recognition.
Introspectively, I turn my gaze, seeking to change.
Outwardly I wish to view, and offer my counsel where it most suits.
And offer of support with a hope and grace,
Seems more effective than blatant rebuke.
More-over in the case where the critical stand the same ground.
In my periphery I note those of privilege,
Living in a facade of self-righteousness,
Surrounded by ramparts of hypocritical superiority.
And I realize, I have surrounded myself with self-servers.
Spinelessly snaking.
And where to? I have no distinct thought.
With these Gaurwaith, personal fault is non-existant,
And swift scorn is their sharpest blade.
So here I sit at a loss, and I guess all I can really say is,
"Grow up... and fuck you."
