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Chateau D'if

from The New Gospel by Haunt

/

lyrics

One thousand years. Old man at the top of the hill, with his things neatly packed away. Still in mourning. And I don’t open the windows. And I don’t open the front door. For the kids who holler and scare. A claim to know me. Not anymore. But one day, the grin seeks. Mobs, with hands ready to do the lords work. Fingers twitching.

You’ve got six seconds to interrupt right between the teeth or just give it up. Old man at the top of the hill wants to cut. But all his blades are dull. Never sharp enough. Heretic, dragged across the coals. Heretic, littered with arrows. Vicious as they come. No pity from the young. Buried alive. I’m out of time. Sacrosanct. Sarcophagus. Warlord, captured. Salting cold earth. Bloodlines to burn. Lined up by worth. Shallow born. Womb fled. Razor torn. Never wed. There is no sound that can emit from the pillar of brick.

At the top in shambles, I beg for death to come quick. But death, oh dearest death, he never comes. He just quits. Crafted me a new set of shackles and said “good luck kid”. I am sorry for everything. I never wanted to live this way. I never wanted to be unclean, angry or depressed; muzzled by anxiety. A head plague by its maiden name. Mother’s blood. Misplaced bane. And now you say that I am still the same. But believe me, how I wanted to change.

Prisoner posture. Insomniac blues. Isolation aches and the fear of you. I thought it would help if I heard the truth. Internal rot. Divorcing hues.

In a past life, I boarded up the house I built for you, and killed myself inside. You don’t get to drift off to death. You will never see her again. Never granted the glory. Never given to ghosts.

“I’ll always love you.” A lobotomy plea. Eternally demystified. Skull hollowed out.

credits

from The New Gospel, released October 28, 2014

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Haunt Baltimore, Maryland

melancholy cult

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