(Everyone is a soiled dove
Born into a shit existence
Until the day that we cleanse our wings
Resist)
Oppressive tradition in constant control. Bags under eyes forcing your face into dirt. Bury your head when you can no longer see. Comfort in lack of responsibility. Like vultures scavenging the meat from the bones, before the body becomes a carcass. It's dove eat dove: to clip the wings or be clipped? How does one drag their feet through another day?
If you're falling asleep you better wake, to listen to the voices as they chant in the street, demanding the right to stand on two feet, without rubber bullets cutting them down to their knees. Wouldn't it be easy to pretend it's not a problem? Why get your hands dirty when it takes more time to clean them? A revolution's going on whether or not you back it. So stop fucking talking and for once step back and listen.
This album is haunting, beautiful, and cathartic. One of the best post-black metal albums out there. I bought a cd on Discogs, but needed the vinyl. Доберман Сатз