lyrics
With water they christened me, it seemed appropriate
As those who deem all else dirty are such an unclean lot
All are sinful, soiled things, unfit to share eternity
In life some are but poor; in death, nobility
I clench my teeth, I bite my tongue
Such pious souls decay, exhaling vitriol
Wasted creatures, hoarding their spells
Chapped skin flakes into dust as their book spines unravel
Wraiths scrabbling to serve a god of cruelty
Sadistic faith handed down as history
Brimstone on their sick breath, condemning dissenters
Their heaven must be such a lonely place
It seems that none they spy may well enter
Besieged by righteousness, I played along
Drank the wine they offered, showed them I belong
Soon my plans will execute, they’ll be judged
And the flames they warned of will be all they can clutch
Wraiths scrabbling to serve a god of cruelty
Sadistic faith handed down as history
Brimstone on their sick breath, condemning dissenters
Their heaven must be such a lonely place
Tasting now their bitter fruit, the spoils of lives spent in darkness
Wool robes graft to pale skin, as they burn they all confess
Tales of rape and genocide in the name of man, not God
To each I whisper earnestly,
“The murk of death’s your sole reward”
Wraiths scrabbling to serve a god of cruelty
Sadistic faith handed down as history
Brimstone on their sick breath, condemning dissenters
Their heaven must be such a lonely place
credits
from
Brimstone,
released April 23, 2011
All songs by Ichabod Crane.
All lyrics by Scott Roger.
Watercolors by Wednesday Wolf,
www.wednesdaywolf.com
Scott Roger - vocals/guitar
Mike Oiler - guitar/vocals
Matt Spaeth - bass/vocals
Brandon Siegenthaler - drums
Recorded by Robert Reinard at Byahh! Studios, Kent OH
Mastered by Bill Korecky at Mars Studio, Mantua OH
license
all rights reserved