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Only Dead Birds Sing Over the Graves of Fallen Kings

by Albatwitch

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Travis Niemeyer
Travis Niemeyer thumbnail
Travis Niemeyer Was looking for something ENJOYABLY challenging to my ear. This was the final deliberation. This has soft and harsh ambiance, unconventional instrumentation and playing-styles (for an otherwise metal band), spoken-word/sampling, variety in its ups and downs, and enough metal to balance the abundance of non-metal, all in a way that your "trveness" won't feel stifled.
Kim Kelly
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Kim Kelly Bizarre, unsettling, noisy black/drone/electronic hell.
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1.
Die gedanken sind frei. My thoughts freely flower. Die gedanken sind frei. My thoughts give me power. No scholar can map them. No hunter can trap them. No man can deny: die gedanken sind frei. I think as I please and this gives me pleasure. My conscience decrees: this right I must treasure. My thoughts will not cater to duke or dictator. No man can deny: die gedanken sind frei Should tyrants take me and throw me in prison, my thoughts will burst free like blossoms in seasons. Foundations will crumble, and structures will tumble, and free men will cry: die gedanken sind frei!
2.
Break Apart 01:26
3.
See how you break apart beneath the wind and rain. See how you crack like ice and then you freeze again. Beneath the waters. Beneath the madness. Beneath the flood. See how I fall away under the thunderstorm. See how I fade to black. I will not come back. Beneath the waters. Beneath the madness. Beneath the flood.
4.
Floodwaters 02:46
5.
Listen to the dead birds sing o’er the graves of fallen kings. They wave their little broken wings and speak of long forgotten things. Listen to the dead birds’ song; it weaves a tale so very long. They tell it with a cobweb breath: words to life, given from death. Listen to the dead birds’ tale; how it makes the mourning wail. They wet the graves all with their tears, and how they shake all in their fear. But ghosts of kings mourn not for thee. No tears for their widow queens. Kings care not for the lives of men - but only for gold and kingdom. No kings - save for kings without a head. No lords - save for lords of the dead. No man sent to be my voice. No gods but the gods of our own choice.
6.
Dead Kings 00:59
7.
A.M.P.I.C. 06:25
Who controls the water? Who controls the food? Who controls the money? Who controls the guns? They have them aimed at you. Who controls the borders? Who controls the skies? Who controls the prisons?Who controls your life? They have a plan for you. Poison water. Poison food. Blood money. Bullets fly. Razor wire. Fiery sky. Locked away until you die.
8.
Nomads 03:04
9.
10.
Liar's Noose 06:57
In the Chapel of the Morning Light: the rising sun, the early flight; the birds of dawn rise to the hymns; the birds of night dream in the din. And liars pull on liar's clothes to go to where all the liars go and trade their little dimming souls for a pocket full of gold. Children wake in light of blue and watch their fathers' shiny shoes rush to do what liars do; around their necks the liar's noose. And bitter mouths spit bitter words, while other voices go unheard or shouted down because they voice something different; perhaps a choice. In the Chapel of the Morning Light mothers shiver and cry in fright and just like Judas, hang themselves for want of nothing more than wealth. False brothers there I can see at the altar sharpening their teeth; forked tongues coiled behind their smiles - they poison truth, lie, and beguile. In the Church of the Falling Son pray the tired and lonely ones, as they've prayed on every eve for some small hope of relief. Their knees are bloody, bruised and sore. They've been in this church before. They cried behind its broken door. Their tears have often wet the floor. They limp there with crooked backs; drag their feet through well-worn tracks; beat down by suffering every day. Unequal work for little pay. Rich men smile from towers high, while others with their burdens sigh; they look down upon the working ones marching in the falling sun, or crawling in the fading light. Misery is rich men's delight, as they move their wretched pawns: to church by dusk, to work by dawn. How proud the rich men's vicious smiles. How neat their suits, how new their styles. Poor workers struggle to move their sacks with rich men's whips all at their backs. No silver spoons, if spoons at all. No ruby slippers for home to call. The wealthy few share with no one in the Church of the Falling Sun.
11.
12.
Rise! 04:27
Wrong way ‘round the rosy, pockets spilling posies. Unburn the ashes! Rise from the dust! Wrong way ‘round the fire. Rise from the dust! There’s movement in the pyre. Rise from the dust! Wrong way ‘round the moonlight. Rise from the dust! Hear the people chant: Rise from the dust!
13.
14.
Their souls were sold twenty years ago for a bag full of silver or a fleeting glimpse of gold. And the hammer falls from the calloused hand. And the iron rusts all upon the sand. Their hearts were broken a long age ago by a hope of comfort in a blast of cold. Now children nurse their wounds in the driving din. For the nail that stands out must be hammered in.
15.
Goat 05:12
There’s a finger to your lips. There’s a hand on my throat. There’s a blade in your teeth. Wear the skin, become the goat! You put your bones in the pelt and dance all in the mud. You forge a lie from words I said then signed it with your own blood. Wear the skin, become the goat! Wear the skin, become the goat! Wear the skin, become the goat! Now the blade is at your throat. Wear the skin, become the goat!
16.
Frack-ture 07:02
There’s a tear in the heart of the Mother of us all. There’s a blade ripping through the bones of her skull. She shakes and she moans while they turn their backs; grinding their drills through deeper cracks. She heaves black blood in her dying breath. The heartless men don’t notice her death. And flowers will not grow upon her grave, for poison clouds block the sun’s bright rays. She cannot dream, nor rest in peace, for they fracture her coffin with death machines.
17.
Black water rises in poison wells. Black souls smile to see them filled. The fractured earth is torn again and shudders under the hand of man. She shakes and heaves in grave warning. She sheds black tears in dread mourning. But money wins and black souls smile. They rape the earth black mile by mile. Death follows on the reaper’s swing, the vulture’s wing, and bones roll down through fractured earth. Birth in reverse. Birth in reverse. Birth in reverse.

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credits

released September 13, 2013

Brian Magar
timeMOTHeye

sounds: acoustic and electric guitars; banjo; bass; stick dulcimer; harmonium; celtic harp; dumbek; magickal musical thing; bodhran; banjola; lobow; vocals

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Albatwitch York, Pennsylvania

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