Caged, you helped me chain them closed.
Razed, I itch my skin to the bone.
Unphased, glass not half empty or full.
Praised, we just do what we're told.
Waiting on the world to come under fire.
We're forced with nothing but words.
Our skin is all they desire.
When push comes to shove they're all aching for free reign.
Porcelain, faking so that you can decide.
To the end, this part is never defined.
The encore, only until we're out of time.
But before, the land will split and divide.
A ferocious display of blackened stoner-doom from Moscow's Moanhand, who offsets moments of bleak ugliness with clean, haunting melody. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 23, 2021
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