1. |
Bonesaw Diplomacy
02:11
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Pass me the bonesaw there's no time to waste
Traitors and critics corrupt the state
Sedition
Wolves surround the throne
Perdition
For those who won't atone
Defenestrated, strangled or drowned
An acute overdose of hollow point rounds
Polonium
Coursing through your veins
You can run
but there's nowhere you can ever fucking hide
Global assassin
Fourth reich fashion
Spreading the disease
Bonesaw diplomacy
Global assassin
Fourth reich fashion
Spreading the disease
Bonesaw diplomacy
Suicide
Two to your head from the back
Found inside
A bound and padlocked sack
Traitors and critics corrupt the state
Pass me the bonesaw there's no time to waste
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2. |
The Noose Tightens
03:12
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Every breath that you take is one less/that remains
Till the noose takes your last
Every day is a chance you will not get back
Every sound that you hear is a door slamming shut
And the weight/that you feel
Is the rough and unmerciful touch
Of the hangman's glove
We fall slow
Not for us the sudden plunge and the quick stop,
But the dull panic of a crushed windpipe
We stand in line with our death-hoods on
Each in turn is marched off to his fate
Throats too choked to voice our rage
Backs broken by the weight
Time, time is a noose
From which we hang ourselves
Feel its fibers round your neck
Coarse unyielding in its grasp
When the noose tightens
Who will be there to stand
Witness to your end
Who, who will cut you down?
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3. |
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A rock is an object until it becomes law
The code of shattered teeth and broken skulls
With stones pulled from their own homes they gather
Relieved to escape the cull
Justice must be done
Cast the first stone
Silence the untruth
Cast the first stone
So many hands make light work
Absolved by ritual and washed in a stream
The condemned a scapegoat for communal purge
And by this blood we are clean
Sun-baked and river-washed
The law sits heavy in your hand
This stone, this murder, is anathema to you
Hurl it from yourself with righteous violence
Purge yourself of all that is loathsome
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4. |
Vacant Thrones
03:48
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The old gods are dead
Their corpses hung from rotting trees
Our eyes now turned toward vacant thrones
Science never sleeps
The promise of a man made god
What other altar could we kneel before?
Crawl inside yourselves
The fear of death compels
You live your life for someone else
You speak of laws and debt
I say the only crimes
Are the ones that you regret
Gods are born in blood
The sweat and tears of lesser men
Thus speak the prophets of this new dark age
You are hereby called
To this feral ministry
The only commandment to look death in the eye
Drink deep and slake your aching thirst
Soon every well will run dry
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Stone the Oracle Boston, Massachusetts
Heathen death metal from Boston, Mass
E Lee Royal - Guitars and vocals
Joe Miller - Bass and vocals
Evan Scott - Drums
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