You're bulging and disgusting. Cropped out of my frame. You're counting rings on my woodcut so you can keep track of all my pain. And you wanna call me liar, but you know that's what I am called. And you can't stand to say my name, you look past my eyes into the wall. You've been avoiding me all the weekdays, and now come the day of rest, you've come to tell me something -- well I'm already unimpressed. This day is no longer holy. The ink's faded from the page that called you to be friendly, that condemned your stupid rage. My pain is on a canvas and you took a photograph to chew on in your mouth, to digest and then pass. Well I am not like Jesus, and I am not very kind. I much prefer to push aside undesirables in my life. So with a sharpened blade and with a broken heart, I will command your image to darken and then fade from my art. And there will be no living memory when you are cropped from the frame, for I am etched into a woodcut -- but you are struck from the page.
The metal’s band revelatory new record crosses genres and styles, effortlessly combining seemingly incompatible subgenres. Bandcamp Album of the Day Apr 26, 2024