Watching the silent, angry scream.
So odd, but distant.
A curious pull from their world.
Noiseless, insistent.
But it barely intrudes. A whisper in the distance,
a ripple in the ocean, so quickly washed away.
Submerged in words.
Twisted whispers and images vie for attention.
My own little personal fanfare and cacophony.
Ferocious accusations fly
unabated.
I am a shit. I am a waste.
Unloved or wanted.
I have heard the demands.
Can see the clear solution.
I have heard this so often
its almost comforting.
Drowning in words.
Hostile demands and commands vie for attention.
My own little personal fanfare and cacophony.
I've heard the whispers and their tortured desires.
Their twisted, two fisted insistence, their might.
The feast of a tired and fragile existence.
To suck on the poison, the bile and finality in store.
The rage that existed over distant desires.
The dreaming of healing, reseeding my life.
Reduced to a tired and fragile memory,
a buried and broken curiosity.
Buried in words.
Screaming voices and choices vie for attention.
My own little personal fanfare and cacophony.
The consistently excellent NYC death-doom dealers dole out another heaping helping of demonic growls and nasty riffs. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 7, 2024