1. |
Century of Exile
07:38
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We leave all we know—
our memories, our shadows—
to search throughout the earth
for shards of our mother.
We lick our plates clean
and live on pure instinct.
Pixilated images are enough
to keep us breathing.
Those hills are aflame.
Smoke kills everything.
The worst fires of our lives;
a century of exile.
Tear Down. Tear Down.
To stand with the numbered,
to know only hunger,
to wander the desert,
and wish it was over.
Elegies for yesterday;
decades upon decades.
The worst fires of our lives.
A century of exile.
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2. |
Mountains Fall
06:02
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To be lost endlessly,
To believe in nothing.
Gliding wraiths pass through time
Exposing every wound in our minds.
And the echo sounds
like mountains being torn down.
To belong to dreamless sleep,
The cold bottom of the sea.
The pulling tide of all our moons
Moves the waters over our tombs.
And the echo sounds
like mountains being torn down.
We can’t abide what we do
and rust corrodes the statues.
Beauty becomes obscured
In a cacophony of laughter.
Mountains fall.
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3. |
Virikas
06:32
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A cold obsidian night is all we know.
We bury our hearts and dream of home.
Like ghosts we will haunt each other
And glide through the mist of our love.
The weight of emptiness as black as stone.
In this place of hunger only echoes grow.
The ash will rust our forges
When shadows own the torches.
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4. |
Deep Sky Obelisk
11:27
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I.
Casting shadows, casting shapes;
our chains are slowly rusting.
Casting doubt on all our faith;
only wolves will visit our graves.
The burning earth ritual,
we roll the bones and watch them fall.
The burning earth grieves like a ghost.
Shamans know that comets return.
Cast your nets into the sea
and drift forever on the waves.
Casting roles in tragedies,
we turn to dust upon the stage.
The burning earth ritual,
we roll the bones and watch them fall.
The burning earth grieves like a ghost.
Shamans know that comets return.
II.
The blood of the father;
the faces of the mother’s womb.
The blood of the father;
a waning gibbous moon.
We carry the blackness
like celestial bodies.
A heavy rain is falling.
In darkness we believe.
Ancestors forsaken,
scarecrows in the weeds.
Our heavy hearts are falling
to the bottom of the sea.
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Static Altars Wenatchee, Washington
Inspired by literature, the apocalyptic fires that plague their home, and the bleak cold of Northwestern Winters, Static Altar’s songs examine themes of alienation, exile, and the loss of faith. They will appeal to fans of Russian Circles, Helms Alee, Wolves in the Throne Room, Vaura, and Inter Arma. ... more
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