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6. The Black Hundred.
PRIMORDIAL LYRICS.
"And I say to my people's masters: beware, beware of the Thing that is coming, beware of the risen people, who shall Take what we would not give. Did ye think to conquer the people, or that law is stronger Than life and than men's desire to be free?" [―Padraig Pearse, "The Rebell"]
If there is a watcher under the earth Wake him from his fateless sleep Through the glorious voids of heaving earth Souls of fire, release me.
3. Bloodied Yet Unbowed.
7. The Puritan's Hand.
[Guillam Appolinaire, from "Reply of the Zagur-Og Cossacks to the Sultan of Constantinople"]
There is plague at the door It begs to be among us In the ashen dreams of crippled children.
5. The Mouth Of Judas.
So heretics I call to you And partisans stand as one And rebels raise your voices If not then all is lost.
We are searching The golden redeemer Who wrote the word of the devil In the veins of man.
Do you bring fear to the hearts of heathens When your breath is upon their necks And the Gods will not answer And the sun is not in the sky.
He whispers, when the demons come Do you make peace with them or do you become one of them? Do you? If I give name to my furies, can you name them? He preaches salvation in the loins of women And the black sciences.

8. Death Of The Gods.
So take your bitter pill and wait until dawn The pound of flesh Tithe of princes Wine of salvation.
2. Lain With The Wolf.
So here's to comrades near and far Raise a glass, raise hell Years have passed closer to the grave But this is the song we chose to sing To the bitter end, to the end.
You cannot see from shore That it casts no shadow upon the wave The sepulchral crawl with us Over land and see they hail Deadened hands upon the rudder Groaning on the gale.
When the shadow fell upon me I knew I was running with the wolf And it was his eyes I saw staring back And this I learnt and this I know You cannot escape the beast when you wear his mark.
Here there is no god he is ground to dust In the death machine of industry The iron hearse sent on bitter tracks to the Gulag Suffering forged between the hammer and sickle The sorrow of men's hearts is a broken people Nations at the gallows pray for mercy killing Men of the cloth stand in stretch necked defiance Famines fist sounds the death knell The people's utopia moulds an industrial horizon Rusted Vostok in the lap of the Gods.
So clasp your hands and bend your broken knees For no one else will, and your confessions Of worthless guilt, are not your saving grace And so you seek redemption at the puritan's hand Is the hell you find here not enough for you? To find your redemption.
"I want to burn, give me the funeral pyre Long was life, but my life's waking short The highest of my father's sacraments To climb towards heaven on a towering flame And scream out the injustice by which My nation with fiery iron was beset and slaughtered"
God's old snake We ask for a sign A revelation A vision of hell or blood from stone.
I am cut from the cloth of Judas From the hangman's hand itself The long stare of the condemned And the cursed song of slaves.
And so we stood, among thieves, liars and murderers Whose names shall live in eternal rest and infamy Disgraced kings enshrined with their pious men Who ruled us all with the bloodied spear of destiny.
1. No Grave Deep Enough.
So heretics I call to you And partisans stand as one And rebels raise your voices If not then all is lost.
You may say I have lost to a better man This may be true I cannot protest or lie Yet maybe one who did not dare to be wrong or even to be right.
What is the standard with which I bear What flag do we fly when marching to war Only a nation that dare not speak its name Nor can ever shed its pain.
I have stood at the top of the world Shook the four winds and called your name Walked dusty paths on holy hills Gazed upon black effigies and pressed holy flesh.
What pale beast Lurks in the shadow Great lover revelling in pox That feeds on filth.
To those who did not dare to sing out of tune Or sing a different song To march to the beat of a different drum and speak the truths others fear Just give me one thing to live or die for.
There is disease upon the air It grasps at the throat of virtue Rosary twist in leather hands And offer prayer for me.
We have been to the ends of the earth Slouched towards Bethlehem With daggers drawn.
I've told you once I've told you a thousand times No regrets and no remorse No 4 am whiskey soaked wisdom or bloody knuckled politics Do I regret and not a single moment will I ever repent.
O, Death where are your teeth That gnaw on the bones of fabled men O, Death where are your claws That haul me from the grave.
And this is the death of the Republic It's dead and gone with Pearse in the grave And we are haunted to the end by the ghosts of Connolly's army And skeletal fingers are on the trigger of Collins' demise And Parnell's—his dreams are turned to nothing but dust.
And this is the death of the Republic and make no mistake The senate is lost and Zeus is laughing So Mars God of war can you hurl a lightning bolt To smash the temple of the blind The Tiber is over—is over-flowing with the blood of innocent men.
So rise my brothers, rise from your graves Throw your shackles off and stand by my side So rise my brothers, rise from your graves No grave is deep enough to keep us in chains.
Do you have justice to trump the divine To steal the sanctity from their sermon Reduce to ash, writing of piety And conquer the lord's word I think you do.
You knew my name before I was born You knew my death from the moment it passed my lips.
We spent the smallest hours Staring into the void Between sleep and dreams That stretch from the womb to the grave So feel the puritan's dead hand as it throttles all life.
I have lain with the lamb Sang his tender praise on long dark nights Searched my drawn face long and hard For a sign of his light Shoulders to the wheel for the grist of faith Is manna for the blind Like a child of Cain without the providence of truth.
There is sickness in the soil Nothing grows this side of Eden Nor in the yearning abyss That is all things to men's hearts Nor in the skeletal tug Of motherhood that curses all with life.
All of the God's children they all have to die Pauper to King sworn enemies to kin From men without sin to those with the beast within The grave is absolute, the grave is all.
Hangman to all mankind Make your peace For mother earth lays on her deathbed Death's rattle echoes.
And I have fought the god of men For my whole life Yet now we sit at the table together Breaking bread and drinking blood wine.
I have lain with the wolf He seeks me out and demands my company In the corner of a crowded room With words of madness and water of fire.
I am cut from the cloth of Judas And have seen his face in mine The weathered hands that turn the pages Are scattered in the sun My ship has the blackest sails Yet no wind to drive like slaves.
They will dash you against the cliffs 'Til every brittle bone is broken Jutting rip and gristled knuckle Is gnashing on the foam.
album: "Redemption At The Puritan's Hand" (2011)
"And you who follow me to make Sure I do not exceed the span, Given to me on earth I take Care old Shadow of a man Dead God of all my god's own snake"
4. God's Old Snake.
So here's to comrades near and far So raise a glass, raise your voices Years have passed some would say They have not been kind Yet these are the scars of war And we remain yet we stand Bloodied yet unbowed.
O, Death I am not ready for the grave So turn your steeds around and loosen your reins I am not one for the tomb.
Joy did come. It rose with the morning sun Like cold guilty sweat across my brow These are the first words that fell upon my lips.
Free me from the hangman's hand Free me from the hangman's noose So bend your knee before the majesty of death You struggle for breath and lay the dead head to head So bend your knee before the majesty of death You struggle for breath and lay the dead head to head So they stretch from the womb to the grave Let us tell you the first journey of men The first murder, the soil so red and barren It burns so red and barren.
We stood on the shoulders of giants Like atlas with the burden of faith We clasped our hands—our hands in praise Of a conqueror's right to tyranny And this is a language that has not passed Our lips in one thousand—one thousand years.
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