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The Spear and the Ichor That Follows Full Album Lyrics

House of Atreus - The Spear and the Ichor That Follows cover art
Band
Album

The Spear and the Ichor That Follows

(2015)
TypeAlbum (Studio full-length)
GenresDeath Metal
Album rating :  –
Votes :  0
Lyrics > H > House of Atreus Lyrics (19) > The Spear and the Ichor That Follows Lyrics (7)
Submitted by level 21 록스타 (2018-10-11)
1. Trenches of Fortune (3:55)
Lacerated backs reflecting sunlight in the mud sweating unto swine in the heaps they occupy. Lowered into flames when their bodies surrender to vicious heat and thirsting of their souls.

Steeds with fingers and sorry eyes, urinating down dirt covered legs and onto their captive feet, stepping in excrement left by neighbored kin ahead.

Water women slur about barely tasting life, their misery profound, holding the abundance god-ward, mocking laughing abandon.

No will to fend from the whip wielded by unhidden face weaponized by woe-less power. Bathing asses poison the springs rendering disease to the man flock. Crops of humanity plundered their famine purchased by greed. Unitary fates are sealed in mortar back-whipping pyramid slavery.

Generations of blood seep from layers of stone foundations built by the elder while bitter peaks bear flesh of the son to everyday extinguished mankind.

Offerings to the burning stars above. Glowing censers redden the night plumes as bodies are torched into halves. Sandblasted frowns bleed with quivering lips, silently lamenting inescapable night watch; guards amputate hope from the work dogs by exhausting testicles into the starved.

"Build these walls, ye accursed ones - with your bruised bodies and soulless blood - unspat upon my posthumous erection."

Ripened cadavers leak as rotting fruit cracked open by starving worms of the dead. Unquestioned eyes loom down from afar, gazing upon the trenches of fortune.
2. Messenger of a Shaken Host (5:51)
3. Throne of Chariots (5:55)
The unfettered empire rears on its hind the carving blades of impeccable force flash into the eyes of the scavengers, the clarion scourge is disposed to belligerence.

Housed by the greatest technology marking the backs of our champion rule - weapons of art for the beauty of war, uniformed Olympian force - these systematic forms are unstoppable when compared to hoodlum brigades.

Summoned from orderly streets, the arrogant step in synchronicity to destroy the unruly ones. Magniloquent flames burning within. Sword and shield are as mirrors reflecting the faces of the hungry and diseased. Armored with power from gods, the privileged will kill to maintain. Foul colored sweat perspires miasmal, the derelict faces hide behind anger.

"Impoverished fools befoul the name of progress through your laziness. This shall be your last of life's embrace, torn from your dignity and your flesh to our crops!"

Intoxicating banter. A provocative god that confiscates fear from life and death. Rushing adrenaline discourages hunger and thickens the brows of bolstering souls.

"We toil amidst the infertile plains while the fat and sleek drink milk and honey. Blessed are these ripened swine..."

Slaughtered by Men of the Minervan owl. Lashing pain of swords is succeeded by the fall of pride. Married to ill fortune, the cattle is put to rest.
4. Oresteia. The Unforgotten Scorns (6:03)
Adjourn me not of woeful song poison my heart with treacherous vexes. Spirit open thy aortal death-spring and bleed me unto burning sulfur.

From the full tables of Tantalus, to the swollen branches he cannot befinger, his cracked lips in pursuit of water, dry cheeks not sorrow-moistened for dining on man flesh with the gods.

For the white virgin, doth the ground tremble in a race against the king for his lineage. Pelops, in sabotage is victor splaying his corpse asunder.

See now the hardened breasts of swinging Hippodamia, the mouth of her murdered babe had wandered. Her blade is stained with his blood. Banished they, into Mycenae, the guiltless weapon clutched in her palm.

Witness the fouls of ill-minded Atreus - in vengeful flesh he hath wrought decadent murder of innocent kith. The bloody meal splashed within his brother only enough to make him wretch.

A nefarious zephyr wills its rule, bending sails upon sea chariots, pushing heart-ward the spears into Troy and laying waste her shores in flame.

Waste naught these falling tears of Orestes. Torn he between vengeance and justice his hands cleansed by Apollo. For a son always kills mother to absolve the weights of his father.

Red and hot doth the angry sun burn, how light the shores of our discontent!

How for we yearn our spoiled blood washed!

This blighted house swifted forgiveness. Split open thy aortal death-spring and bleed me unto burning sulfur.
5. Heir to the Crown of Sodom (6:14)
Behold The fortress in the shadow of a martyred son
Virtueless benevolence and intolerant of the abstained, stolen into rulership by the murders of his lineage. Bastard of his ilk, ridden of his faculties. Fragile state of mind in frenzy of appetites. On separate occasions siblings contort into sodomies unexplained, semen and blood strewn about communal wings. Paper inquisitions burn in fire places obligating kinship to the twisting of his purposes. Even his swollen dead are re-sexualized.

Tense creeping fingers gripping is related - a wide awakened girl with quivering breath. Gaius gliding over the offerings inside her, draining out his family's ovum, ejaculating sin. Sinful glow in pupils of deceit, pulling in his grasp strands of golden locks in rhythm of disgust, driving Sodom's womb, enjoying every spoil of his father's gift.

Political eyes fawn, whispers of treason fog the corridors. Speechless wives are stolen of their dignity as they kneel to formalities.

One who takes fame in madness, one who rules with death at his side. Laughter in the halls of his domain, laughter in his public chambers. A brother to a madman, a father to no one greater, nephew to a mighty ruler and a slave to all inversion. Mentally corroded, taste for the undeveloped and unbecoming man.

In the gray dawn under a sickly sky, the ground stone ripples, dimming in cloud light. Where hath thy mind wandered to acquire these wretched ills? Writhing where worms of Hades will not dare.

In nebulous ruin does a black mind choose to fray? Losing all clarity in his culture of misanthropy - as an odorless flower, colorless and tasteless, is violently tossed aside to rot and deteriorate...

Pulling in his grasp strands of golden locks, handfuls of skin - similar sweat conjoins in rhythm of disgust, driving Sodom's womb, filling every void of his mother's love. Shaking in the night, wrists not breaking free incestuous shackles, clamoring inbreed mirrored candle flame igniting shameless eyes - a deed for poison murder or of suicide?
6. Beasts of Antiquity (4:26)
Blessed be the victor, the true to the self, the dutiful hand
Brandished vexilla - signifers of Rome - amplify voices commanding the organized,. Enslaved in power and shielded by right pila of the forceful redistribute opposition, deluging wounds overwhelm the ground.

At war again with the worthless of heart. Side-ridden thorns are plucked and moved aside. Signs of surrender in the eyes of the lion, advances begin in midst of kneeling earth.

Formulations of the conquering mind directing executions in perfection. The blighted disband when aquilifers approach the satiable brave, libidinous with death.

HAIL! The golden eagle!
HAIL! The Imperial will!
HAIL! The destiny spear!
HAIL! The Beasts of Antiquity!

Massacred fragments litter the field, stoic faces salute their command and witness absolution of land... when those bodies finally melt.

Linear victories following war chariots, paving golden roads for the proper common wealth. Maps are stained with wine as glasses tumble in firelight. Adjoining shadows wrestle walls, the beaten are raped of their souls. Away with these ravages whom progress refrained.

"In the name of the conqueror we separate your flesh! Kneel to our mounted steeds so tall in the sun's white aura, red cloak swollen with the western wind."

Bodies hang in the morning hour in shadow of the Colosseum. Plebeians mock the worthy captive, spitting curses upon their dirty skin. The will of the unwashed driven from new boarders drawn dignifying crops with accurate growth.

Bloodlines written in petulant sand, offering scent of bodily harm. Pits are opened for the dead. The refuse is dumped in heaps.
7. Veiled in Dignities of Wrath (5:28)
Father! My Breath cannot be drawn acquitted of pain
The tomb of my ended blood standing before me, illuminated by every start of Sirius, enclosing eternal, my paternal warrior. What suffering wrought to be expelled by angry lover.

My mother veiled in black, the murderer. Her bitter lips mirror curses, from the oracle. Her heart a fire for scornful equation, blazing further wrath into the house of Atreus.

Will matricide be the greatest gift to accursed kin?
Will the scale weigh even with this evil done dispatching the womb that bore me?
What renders blood, to stain upon a mothers floor?
But a son to equate his father's murderer!
Will the scale weigh even with this evil done?

I, the son of vengeance, sit upon the knee of Apollo, blessed with this curse.
Besotted with guilt, the blade that meets my hand is the meeting point for her life and death. The mockeries worn upon her body fall. The veils of her obsidian dignities swirl about to match the splashing garnets of blood...

Regret! How could the semen of my father find such a lowly egg to embrace?

The feigned milk and blood for from her teat, still sour in my serpentine mouth, but yet I drank it with greed in the sleep of her horrid dreams... What suffering wrought, to be expelled by angry lover.

The tomb of Agamemnon shudders in finality. Thirsty for the libation leaking from Clytemnestyra. All the grotesques of Hades rejoice with their winnings.

Father...
8. The River Black (5:59)
Icterus light soaks into dancing mercury silver

The surface of impurity is a drinkable memory. The wetted banks choke with the sigh of the stars, giving way to naked feet, and freedom divine. Choking, lifeless limbs, reaching from root to sky, empty with the signs of change and drip with November's kiss. The sound of the night is pure, the air perfect. What creature lives to seed chronological flutter?

Stones polished by careful waters emanate black neon shimmers. They are cold on the skin as I bathe in the midnight's grace. Here I will swallow deep the river and I pray for its swift return.

My face is a gleaming token in the shower of the quicksilver moon. The water whispers to me the only lullaby I've ever heard. The motherly brush of these waters submerge my tears and I'm calmed of my fear.

Approaching the gates of uncertainty, I finally realize how close and dear a friend the end truly is...

I gaze for the very last time at the brilliance of eternal stars. How open the sky remains, undisturbed by time's embrace! They shall provide a conduit for my forever zero dream. Silently I give way to intoxicating nothing.

Shall my caress feed hungry waters?

Ice enters my lungs as I take in, the river black. Where this journey will take me I dare not imagine. The silence of existence is the only true and certain. I feel the superior one swallow my dimming soul. I dare not wonder.

This sleep will be a lustrous beauty.
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