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
supported by 10 fans who also own “Whiskered Men With Bombs”
The mix of raw, brutal rage with beautiful melodies reminds me of fellow Native black metaler Ifernach, but obviously Ushangvagush is very much its own wonderfully twisted creature. Across the ravaged landscape a bleak wind blows, roaring with the voice of the place’s violated Manidou. He is coming for the leech-rot-larval-white settlers with heavy red fists, blazing yellow cat-eyes, and antlers made from the bones of those unjustly slaughtered. He is coming and his vengeance will not be denied. Dave Aftandilian