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lyrics

What is history to those written out but an endless prison of
paper and ink? And what is faith to those who've lost theirs but a poison they’re forced to imbibe? Know there's nothing that you have built that we wouldn't tear down or burn to the ground, because the idols raised in your worship look to us as so many counterfeit gods.

And our church is the streets which we ritually crowd to partake of the eucharist with red bloodied mouths. Baptized by stygian templars on pavement we faithlessly pray for salvation from patriots who, cynically, wrapped in tattered torn flags have built a machine that profits off of our suffering and toil, our fear and dismay. That sells us a sickness then withholds the cure.

So we'll finally rattle the bars of our ever shrinking cages when our righteous anger outweighs all the fear that has kept us trembling
and ashamed, and the apathy that's kept us compliant and cowed

And on that fateful day
when we pull gods down from the sky
we'll burn their sacred relics
may our memory of them die.

credits

from Sparks Unknot the Flesh, released October 7, 2019

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...But the Shadows Have Foes Illinois

Illinois hardcore. DIY.

revisionistwestern.blogspot.com

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