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In isolation
My desolate position
Dwells inside of me
A solitary wretch
When the pariah departs
Abhorrence will ensue
Upon its return
The spilling of blood begins
Hung up high to drain out and dry
The garden of death needs fertilized
Creator of pain consumes the flesh
Painting my face red
Hung up high to drain out and dry
The garden of death needs fertilized
I hold the souls of those trapped inside
The screams from their torture will never silence
supported by 126 fans who also own “If Walls Could Speak”
One of the more unique doom albums I’ve heard for quite some time. Slow, heavy, and creepy, as you’d expect, but with off-kilter chiming psychedelic black-lit elements that catapult the project to another level. Sort of like getting really stoned, then meditating on where we go after we die—and getting an unexpected answer. Dave Aftandilian