that light never shined on me
never in the night of my life did it shine through the trees
I peeled back the curtain
I peeled back the veil
I parted the bell, and the dress, and the sea
I rose through the smoke, scrapped the stage with the nails in my boots
and I showed them the lights of Marie
thy countenance languish
thy words become stilted
thy dress become jilted, and wilted, and flensed
thy bone become yoked to terror, and tragedy
I wore her heart on my sleeve
I stood in the smoke
and I showed them the lights of Marie
the heat did not cleanse me
the kiss could not cure me
did not but obscure me
and lure me to her ugly end
I did not quail at the threat of the gallows
the knife of her light never carved all my shadows
away
with thy countenance averted
I did pale
sing the Lark of Mont Blanc
break the day, and show that my body is shale
and aspires to nothing so great as the song from her lips
but the grime beneath her sharpened nails
Vocals: haunted, and subversive. Guitars: splintered shrieks. Drum machine: grim, unrelenting nausea. Visceral noise, with a hook that gets stuck in in your throat. Just try spitting them out. Stranger Killings
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