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The Famine - The Architects of Guilt cover art
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The Architects of Guilt

(2011)
TypeStudio Full-length
GenresDeath Metal, Metalcore
LabelsSolid State Records
Album rating :  -
Votes :  0
Lyrics > T > The Famine Lyrics (22) >

The Architects of Guilt Lyrics

(11)
Submitted by level DaveÅkerfeldt
1. The New Hell (3:33)
"All quiet on the set-
Now, put your heads
Back in to the sand
And wait to hear your name called."
The piss-poor defense
Of an army of yes men
Force-fed a diet born of textual corruption.

Oh, the horror!
A grim thing to behold,
Hanging by our
Necks from the bible belt.
Let the words read
"We bit the hand that feeds."
Oh, the horror!
We did this to ourselves.

So, in our scramble to
Avoid being the nail that is sticking out the most
We seem to have left just a few things behind;
Our sense of decency, some pieces of James Byrd.
No matter what, don't look them in the eyes.

This is the new hell.
2. Ad Mortem (3:23)
To stop
A setting sun
Whose time has come
On the day of a lifetime.
A crime
You didn't try
To emphasize
The struggle to get there.

Face it, this is a war that you are losing
A scarlet letter etched upon your trembling chest.
So scratch your skin to feel alive,
An amateur surgery.
Don't pluck the splinter from your eye,
The joys of life are gory.
Bend back the finger until it snaps
To splintered bone and crushed veins.
Scream out until both lungs collapse,
"All hail the dark new campaign!"

There is a special place in hell for people like you.

A life
Immortalized
By serpent eyes
And a beautiful forked tongue
To beg
For some restraint
It sounds the same
As the day that we first met.

So now,
Drown it out in holy water,
Vicodin and dollar bills.
Your dirty hands
Can thread the needle through your skin
But they can't wash away your guilt.

There is a special place in hell for people like you.
3. We Are The Wolves (3:57)
We are the wolves tearing at your flesh.
We are the fangs feeding from your neck.
Exsanguinated efforts torn from the weakest veins.
A satiated hunger, bleached bone pious remains.

Black sun rising.

Give in to instinct, and beg for solace, a welcomed promise of the end.
Choke on the progress, a stillborn concept. Seek out the tendons left to rend.
Forced march eugenics and ten golden tenets once washed in the blood of the Lamb.

I am the stench of suffocating breath. I am the resting place of everlasting death.
A cross of good intentions knelt to on broken knees.
A once revered sepulcher now filled with foul disease.

Black sun rising.

Give in to instinct, and beg for solace, a welcomed promise of the end.
Choke on the progress, a stillborn concept. Seek out the tendons left to rend.
Forced march eugenics and ten golden tenets once washed in the blood of the Lamb.

A cross of good intentions knelt to on broken knees.
A once revered sepulcher now filled with foul disease.

Black sun rising.

Give in to instinct, and beg for solace, a welcomed promise of the end.
Choke on the progress, a stillborn concept. Seek out the tendons left to rend.
Forced march eugenics and ten golden tenets once washed in the blood of the Lamb.

We are the wolves. We are the wolves. We are the wolves. We are the wolves.
We are the wolves. (We are the wolves.) We are the wolves. (We are the wolves.)
We are the wolves. (We are the wolves.) We are the wolves. (We are the wolves.)

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
“This song was the first song we wrote after our last album, and Chris (McCaddon, former vocalist) and I wrote the lyrics together. It’s about scapegoats and martyrs, and the difference between the two.”]
4. Turner Classic Diaries (3:25)
Gutless, comatose, freedom rings, sounding from
a shallow grave, clamoring for some sweet sickness.
Hark, the herald angels sing of misanthropes and monuments,
Razor-wired with hunger pangs, gnashing teeth and impotence. Turner Classic Diaries.

The order of anger is sequenced in hate.
Cosmo-theistic doctrines of fiction by foolish children
who firmly believe there is no comfort like fear.

It’s gutless.

Wave the flag, sing the praises. Thin the herd before they breed.
Throwing stones from glass houses, gun shows, and the Waco siege.
What a man, and what a message, ignorant and asinine.
The Oklahoma City bombing, thanks to you, now realized.

Turner Classic Diaries.

The order of anger is sequenced in hate.
Cosmo-theistic doctrines of fiction by foolish children
who firmly believe there is no comfort like fear.

It’s gutless. You should be so ashamed.

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
“The title is somewhat of a portmanteau of a white supremacist propaganda novel called “The Turner Diaries” and the television show “Turner Classic Movies.” It’s about how the hatred of racism is still fostered, not only in the fringes of our society, but in our backyards.”]
5. Bigger Cages, Longer Chains! (3:56)
The swine are circling and they’ve tasted blood.
Poster children for manifest destiny, and they have become
a farm team of rednecks with cable TV and nothing better to do;
Rows of teeth waiting patiently to take the place of the newly lost.

The sound of the footsteps outside are loudest at this time of night.
They have strength in their numbers and god on their side,
waving guns in the air using pride as a guise.

Paralyzed masses with fear in their eyes, overreaching, overreacting now the spirit of the times.
Fair-weather captains directing these ships of fools.
If their hands do touch blood: ”I am innocent! They were innocent! I am innocent!”

The sound of the footsteps outside are loudest at this time of night.
They have strength in their numbers and god on their side,
waving guns in the air using pride as a guise.

It takes more than a minute to make you a man.
Arming corn-fed confederates, is that what we call a plan?
Pilate standing with one foot in his own grave, our hands are as filthy as they have ever been.

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
“’Bigger Cages, Longer Chains!’ was an Anarchist slogan used to poke fun at the political fervor over what amounted to trivial matters. Building a wall between America and Mexico isn’t the answer to our problems, and neither is crying about it on cable television.”]
6. The Crown and The Holy See (3:03)
Who is the father of the son of man, and to what has he given birth?
A thousand little lies to pave the way, leading to what we have become.

Building nation states, theocracies by extension of strength.
Bow to the powers that be, be they that of The Crown or of The Holy See.

The threat of indoctrination is the most dangerous of them all.

Who is the father of the son of man, and to what has he given birth?
A thousand little lies to pave the way, leading to what we have become.

Brace for what comes next from the military-industrial complex.
A modern day crusade. These colors don’t run, but they do tend to fade.

A line too thin to measure between the two hands on our throats,
The greater and the lesser of the devils we know.

Enough of the cowards. Enough of the thieves. Enough of the tyrants. There is no reprieve.

The threat of indoctrination is the most dangerous of them all.

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
"This song is about the latently racist middle-aged guy who votes a straight-party-ticket because he slurps down his doctrine from A.M. radio and drives a $40,000 truck with a faded bumper sticker on it that has an American flag and says "THESE COLORS DON’T RUN!" He never had the gumption to serve in the military, but his idea of foreign policy involves a dusting of prayer and a healthy dose of nuclear codes. After all, his pastor said "An eye for an eye!" and "Plus, they pray to the wrong god anyway." Don’t worry though, he sleeps just fine at night, he already has a spot in “heaven”. No matter what your opinion is on government, religion, or the complete sham of a line that separates the two, I think we can all agree that when you allow your opinion to be bought and sold by strangers with a verifiable agenda, your voice should be relegated to the fringes of important national discussions."]
7. VII The Fraudulent (3:04)
Liars,
How far is far enough?
When will you stop this?
Just when is your work done?
Who do you think you are?
Children,
Playing dress-up with dad's guns?
Shouting orders
From bitter blackened lungs-
The grandest drunken brawl-
The talking heads will praise your valor.

The crimson gore of the martyr
Bathed in the light of the sun
A monolith forged in fire
Praised by poisoned tongues.

The sheep, when led to the slaughter,
Despite their urges to run,
Must heed the calls of their shepherds
Until there are none. Liars.

Vultures,
Cowards in the sky,
Are now descending
On the bones of what has died.
Their mothers must be so proud
Of them
For doing just as they were told,
Spending their lifetime
Being bought and sold.
I'll see your Ruby Ridge,
And I will raise you one Jonestown.

A battle less cloak and dagger,
And much better publicized.
The towering weight of a nation,
It's better not to fight. Liars.

It's haunting to think that our hands are what built this thing before our eyes,
But rest assured it is real and it will not stop until it controls our lives.
8. A Pavement Of Good Intentions (4:11)
Show yourself for what you are; pathetic scum, pernicious fool.

It’s best just not to fight it, wait for the curtain call.
If one dose makes it better, try ten to end it all.
Snake oil held up in lanterns, the lighting suits you well.
Pavement of good intentions still leads you straight to hell.

Make yourself sick, gorge on the sound, just be aware it is soon coming down.
A canon of proportion, focused but out of frame.
Here is the revelation; we are all just the same.
Damned to repeat the past, chasing our tails in vain.

Show yourself for what you are; pathetic scum, pernicious fool.

The stunning revelation, the hope to soon become a meager, ever-willing prodigal bastard son.
Stunning displays of malice, you’ll get what you deserve.
An ugly truth that there are some things you can’t unlearn.

Make yourself sick, gorge on the sound, just be aware it is soon coming down.
A canon of proportions, focused but out of frame.
Here is the revelation: we are all just the same.
Damned to repeat the past, chasing our tails in vain.

Here is the gruesome truth; I’m just as awful as you.
Wretched, conniving, spiteful, wrong.

Make yourself sick, gorge on the sound, just be aware it is soon coming down.
A canon of proportions, focused but out of frame.
Here is the revelation: we are all just the same.
Damned to repeat the past, chasing our tails in vain.

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
“We can only bathe in the hedonistic excess of free-market capitalism and state-sponsored religion for so long. My belief is that eventually, we will all be made to stand accountable for our actions. One day soon we may be the spoils and not the victor.”]
9. A Fragile Peace (3:44)
A grinding narrative
Set on a razor's edge,
The culmination of a lifetime.
It stutters to a stop
Then crumbles into ruins,
Bones held up by wire.

You don't put
The gun in your mouth
Because you like the way that it tastes.
It's a testament
To the will of man
And the progress we have made.
In a sense
We've done our best
To lay it all to waste.
So cavalier
And so secure
Dressed in our Sunday finest.

A debt we all must pay,
Bit by bit by agonizing
Pieces of ourselves
To warlords and profiteers
All huddled in dark masses,
Xenophobes and killers.
Commercialized regret
Manufactured in the falsest
Pretense of sorrow.
"Those wretched fools,"
you'll think,
"All huddled in dark masses,
Ripe for the taking."
Sycophants and slaves.

Bone soaked in blurry tears,
The matted grey of ashes,
A liturgy on our failings.
Choke down a Eucharist
Of flesh and tinny blood
To find a fragile, fleeting peace.

Crawl back from whence you came, tormentors.
Lie in the bed that you have made.
Suffer the fools in silence,
Let your actions speak for themselves,
Because actions speak for themselves.
10. Pyrithion House (3:25)
Just dodged a close call.
So tell me, how does it feel to put your hand in the fire and pull it back in one piece?

Connect the dots back to a sense of relief. Remember everything you did that day.

Stare at the night sky and feel the pulse beneath scars.
Count back the minutes to know how lucky you are.

Connect the dots back to a sense of relief. Remember everything you did that day.

You came so close to being alive. For what it’s worth, at least you tried.

Remember everything you did that day.

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
"’Pyrithion House’ is about using self-abuse and suicide as a coping mechanism. At the end of the day, we don’t really understand how truly fortunate we are.”
What does Pyrithion mean exactly?
"Pyrithion is actually an evil character from a card trading game that Andy knew about somehow. I’ve never actually played the game, I’m not sure he has either."
("An UnderWorld Warrior with a human torso and arms and the head and tail of a cobra.")]
11. To The Teeth (4:21)
The way I see it, the choice is clear. Why would we run when we can hide?
The day of reckoning is drawing near. Gather the virgin suicides.

Dig us the shallowest graves in which to lie, foolishly.
Make peace with the ugly truth we never knew.
Sleeping so fitfully, wrestling with what we have done.

The mark of the beast. The fate of a nation. A painful release. There is no justification.

So there we have it, our minds are made. Better to play dead than to fight.
And after all, we are afraid of sabers rattling in the night.

Dig us the shallowest graves in which to lie, foolishly.
Make peace with the ugly truth we never knew.
Sleeping so fitfully, wrestling with what we have...
Sleeping so fitfully, wrestling with what we have done.

If this place doesn’t make you sick,
it’s because you’ve suppressed your reflex to tell right from purely... evil deeds.

[Lyrical commentary by vocalist Nick Nowell:
"This song is essentially the call to arms of the record. The image is clear, we are a nation framed by greed, malice, and ignorance. ‘To the Teeth’ pretty much says that if you can’t see these things in your world, or you refuse to do your part to change them, you have become the problem.”]
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