The coast is clear, the road is paved.
You crossed the line, yeah you misbehaved.
Storm the side, to your feet.
There is no mercy when you try and plea.
Taste the fear, funeral pyre.
Standing ready up and down the wire.
The upper ring will shoot below.
Raise your arms in time to shield the blow.
Soon will be the hour to release.
Part ways.
We'll storm the bridge and charge the gate.
And we'll raise.
As soon as you see their eyes know their intent.
Your death.
Run, we'll save the last of them from harm.
Pull the alarm.
A barren land, a plain of smoke.
The ashes spread out with an even coat.
Crater bound, and fallen stone.
Nothing left underneath the bones.
But in the end, what is it for?
Our ears are pushing up against the floor.
Another time, to fortify.
And now we multiply until next time.
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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