Close your eyes. Don't expect a reason, just drink the wine and pray that your soul's to find the vines wreathed around the fear that keeps me paralyzed. Soon, be my own device, a gentle host. Build the walls and lay your faults in me, the ghost haunting the emptiness of those hollow thoughts that never talk yet bring and boast a cup that will never flow.
Summer’s gone; the leaves have fallen. They die like breath caught in the throat of winter. All the lies, the lords, the flies – they coalesce, haunt the bones and live again.
Round my head there may be a halo but round my neck the rope has begun to burrow in and suffocate. The paths to take – the will is gone, surrendered to the unknown.
Summer’s gone; the leaves have fallen. They die like breath caught in the throat of winter. All the lies, the lords, the flies – they coalesce, haunt the bones and live again.
Woeful tears, numbed in the wake of wintertide, burn the fear – hold the fire, rise from rime! Called alive, curse the sky! Called alive – the fall, divined!
Reach for a setting sun slowly sinking in the fire; take my place among these leaves scorned. Skies fall – the autumn of days! Tears turn to ash on your face. Still, they can't take me from you.
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