Dream, my weakest host… Hold you, waking doesn’t mean escape. You belong ever in this endless specter. Immersed in transgressions, succumb to my torment! Mired, this pleasure beats beneath the stone – debris in the ashes, trinkets of my youth. Fleeting, a whisper, “Eternal, is this end!”
A slave within, these serpents will not yield - writhing limbs, scales that never peel!
Veiled in an amber glow of failure, draped in oldest warmth, surrender. Stifled sweetness amid the smolder - absolution holds its secrets.
A slave within, these serpents will not yield - writhing limbs, scales that never peel! The dream returns, weakens wit and will. Skin that burns - forgotten sense revealed.
A birth – a union, forbidden, cursed. A priest without a god to serve – a savior, cloaked in omen. A mountain, made flesh – an instrument of woe. The Ascent, the spawn of a devil, will watch her Fathers’ fall. This house of war brings judgment to the sea of flames.
A slave within, these serpents will not yield - writhing limbs, scales that never peel! The dream returns, weakens wit and will. Skin that burns - forgotten sense revealed.
You've probably heard that our fellow Columbus-ite, Ben Sharp, is a goddamned genius. We challenge you to dislike this, our favorite of his albums. Sleepers Awake
Half our band's (the Chris's) other band, with less vocals and more doom. Seriously good stuff, but don't just take our biased word for it. Think for yourself, listen to White Wolves. Sleepers Awake