Where mold grows on every bone, where leeches dance before the throne
Rats blow the horns of lust, I close my eyes, inhale the dust
Carving my grave with your bones
Rename every tree to gallows, seeking peace under their shadows
Make a noose by willow cane and the moss will free my pain
The humming of the worms, the odour of the storms
The taste of salty clotted blood, bugs forge a crown by sticks and mud
I lay back in this hole where my pillow is just coal
Wrap myself with rotten skin, I want to hide so let me in
I feel the taste of ash, deformity of flesh
Roots twist my limbs and a human dies in the embrace of the flies
Become one with the wind and fly with sand
Unbearable pain shall levitate over this land
And wolves guard the rite, ravens chant a verse
Lives will be crushed under the the weight of curse
Lives will be crushed in the fist of my curse
Polish noise-crust outfit eschews the big Tragedy-esque riffs still popular with their US counterparts for scratchy claustrophobia. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 2, 2016