They draw ash crosses with jaundiced nails
On the heads of spiders in want of legs
And a red dusk sets as the virgin kneels
Her knives laugh crimson tears; so flows the witch communion to the crowd
As the rivers simmer, the hog, it feeds
At a trough of wasps with ashen wings
As her last brood weeps at the virgins knees
Her axe mocks crimson fears; so flows a fertile seed onto the ground
At the coronation a dead choir sings
Litany’s atonal in discords shrill
To a blaspheme chorus, the clamor builds
A cloud of crimson mist; so drifts the looming fear into the night
In a chain of nurses and priests of smoke
Hear the howls hysteric and lost in cant
Of dust to ashes and ash to dust
The son, the son will come, the son will come upon this rust hued dawn
Search within their white less eyes; when everything is said and done, we’ll learn to miss the comfort of the day on which we knelt
Sulk within their witless lies; the age of poisoned truth is cast and waiting in the womb to crack the dawn
Our wasted hands will not dessert you
Let the scion boil water with bane and breath
We will mend his cradle with branch and thorn
Let the scion boil water with bane and breath
The vultures first, his skin the last
May all lament the footsteps of our path
On their incredible new album, Swiss group Abraham deliver a relentless assault of punishing noise rock, eight tracks of primal fury. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 26, 2022