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Guts

from The New Gospel by Haunt

/

lyrics

Carnivorous. Plastic bag vernacular. Pressured vowels, wounded verse. Fleeting sense. Makeshift hearse. Resuscitating only for another round. I put the mask on. Pulling threads, feeding the hound. But now I, chemical imbalance - give light, a release. Total penance.

Enemy. Weeping beast held in harms reach. Trauma through speech. I make myself sick, gathering. Gored. Give him to Gehenna. Bored with swords. Leave him in the gutter. Sharp kiss. Tribute bliss. The order of torture. The prince of piss. Bed caught fire. I’ve lost sleep. How the years have been violent to me. Tarred and feathered. Left for meat. How the years have been violent to me. So I return in form. Reciprocate the punishment and burn the abusers. Karma clenched. Tooth decay. Throats out, poisoned, force-feeding.

I’ll crush the thief. Spine as an offering. Heartless, receding. No one will grieve. Frame as an ashtray. Hooks sink, never healing. Savior must be proud of you. What a joke. Mongrel choking on his pride. I misspoke. I decide who lives. I decide who dies. Strings instead. Further towards the sound. Soundless tomb. Pacing until dead. I just want to feel, feel like I could hurt without consequence.

A curse upon your loved ones. A hex upon your house.

credits

from The New Gospel, released October 28, 2014

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Haunt Baltimore, Maryland

melancholy cult

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