Distortion drags you down into a cavernous maw of rotting meat and butcher hooks. You get caught, but it's far from catchy. Ritualistic pounding signals your imminent demise. No rhyme, no reason, no rhythm. You cower, you wait, and with each crash you flinch. You discern the cries of others, and know that you are not alone. This is no comfort. You have subjected yourself to this, and there is no turning back.
You know these sounds; you were once able to name these instruments of torture... Instruments, yes, that clangs a bell, somewhere in the doldrums of your psyche...
These frantic attempts at recollection gnaw at the fringes of your consciousness. Pieces of your sanity crumble away like the ever-quickening erosion of the planet. You are fucked. You know this now. You hear the calliphoridae swarm. They swarm for you. You welcome them, for they signal the end.
You suffer, doomed, in an open tomb.
Dead Weight is available now from Dry Cough Records for a paltry sum. Enjoy.
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