1. |
Lazy Thieving Master
05:05
|
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|
Widespread hysteria
Again
Riots and bloodshed on the streets
Strikebreakers, bourgeois goon squads
Again
The bosses hitmen cannot be sated
Revenge
Twelve Policemen Dead or Dying
Anarchy's Red Hand.
Seven sentenced, six brothers murdered on these steps.
The toilers of the world will not soon forget.
Revenge
The blood gives me hope
Show trial
8 anarchists sentenced to death
Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you–
Ye are many–they are few.
All comers shaking from their wandering feet
Release the dust of old world bondage
No tyrannies of fraud, force nor fret,
The world’s debts left unmet
The bitter bread of discontent
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2. |
Murmur
06:08
|
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|
A Great Duke
An Earl of Hell
A soldier riding a vulture
Wearing a ducal crown
Murmur
The sound of trumpets
The lesser key of solomon
Enochian devil
Demon of the night
Murmur
Order of thrones
Sigil of terror
Send forth Shades of the Dead
Encircle the self.
Bring voices of divination unto the Witch summoning.
God isn’t real, and neither are fallen angels
But I can’t resist heathen imagery
Rebellion against a dead oppression
A murmur in the hearts of greed
A momentary lapse of wicked deeds
Philosophy of antiquated values
Demons haunt the past
Bosses torment the living
Who needs Satan when humanity enslaves and imprisons
A devil laughing in the mirror
Thoughts made no clearer
Stuck in time, no need to rewind
The sorcerers are still here
We are our own worst reflection
Annals, tainted by superstition
A realm scarred by butchers with a holy cause
Swept into the dustbin of history
But not for long
Murmur
|
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3. |
Asa Lake
05:42
|
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|
Looking up at the sky, freckled with stars
A village, frozen in time and space
Trailer parks, a land covered with scars
Well water that stinks of sulfur
1830, a founding of disgrace
Appleseed can’t save you
An unknown quantity of unmarked graves
Arrowheads beneath the waves
A sea of cornfields, river of filth
Post-industrial hellscape
Familiar ghosts
Familiar homes
Revolution of a landed aristocracy
Roots in the middle of nowhere
Town atop a hill, a view of nothing still
Palace of rust
Keeper of misery
Crystal caves, dolomites of Silurian age.
Asa Lake, a name obscured by indifference
Hallowed huts on stolen plots
An absentee genocide
The banks of the Blanchard River, overflown
Forgotten, now we sleep
My village is dying
Filled with old souls and the weak
Fooled by tyrannical despots
Led to the water, take a drink, then you’ll see
Drowned by our own misgivings
Fighting to speak
Redemption isn’t here, it’s not even close
Despite all my fears, the end is clear
Processions without hosts
Arrangements without notes
Banished by dust. Letting go
All my friends have left this forsaken hovel
Family buried next to Asahel
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4. |
Whiskered Men With Bombs
06:10
|
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|
Propaganda of the deed
Arbitrary sea of blood
Destroy the old world, of kings and tyrants
An atmosphere of ritual murder
Dynamite liturgy
Dark clouds gathering, heralding storm.
Air is sultry, pregnant with lightning.
Clowns and spellbinders
Spit upon, our own rebels
Their doomed insurrections
To the humble country, the lazy hearts
The ancient ears, the souls that lie.
Health is in you, the screw of garrote
Our collars tighten as we sing this hymnal
We live on
In the realm of martyrs, beds of roses
Now a violent scene. 1920.
Entrails strewn on gilded wagons
Nassau street
Oh, What Bloodshed!
Against a gloomy background of anguish
the dawn of redemption
Blessed are the peacemakers, come unto me
The oppressed masses, masks of progress
Panic amid a ghastly scene of wreckage
An endless siege
One must be either a dunce or a rogue
Ask yourself, “what must be done?”
To achieve a Free Society.
Ridden of our vampiric masters
What is Our Answer, they ask? Wait til you see
Sirens of shrapnel.
Whiskered Men With Bombs
Shouting vengeance upon
The scourge of the weak
The lash of hunger
Strikes the beasts of property
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