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Volume Two

by Doomsayer Records

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Fungi of the mountain drops from the palm of the shaman Bones beating drums, ancestral fire dance around us Drawn to the eye, you’re blinded by the shine of sin Pray shrills like Baykok, as we bask in oroborus revenge There’s not much going on from the wormhole out rolls the spawn Chupacabra in the field of the shepard’s sheep Bats stampede out Red Foot’s teeth Cauldron brew with pulpy grinds of imps Black wizard smoke will get you high as shit Stone hand of doom fingers with zero love Leda sprays all over Magwai cubs My extinction will pass a curse as the wind carries my final breath like a pollen spore of pestilence.
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Fools have no place in a philosopher's trade Bleeding his kill in the bed that he has made A glassy eyed script fed to the starving pack While they pick the bones he slips away Man is wolf to man time and time again Digesting ourselves into extinction Insist on bruised flesh of old wounds you've sewn shut Laying claim to the soil that turns to stone Here she is buried but no one dares sing her song Nothing grows here beyond the seed of his ghost
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Saw animal faces as they moved beneath the skin, like the teethed waves of a roiling ocean. Bound within a flexing and bending ontology, trapped in a dream about a dream of existing. the infinite mirror reflected no light. the eternal snake returned to devour its tail and birth anew. winding into itself as it spiraled outward, limitless and constantly growing. and with it came a sound of breaking. a sense of tearing open. a slowing, a bending. an illusion nullified, equalized, flattened, emptied, resolved into a view of Nothing.
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A plague walked among us As people fled in fear of their cities But the disease remained, and soon death was everywhere Men hated each other Parents abandoned their sick children Wives were dropped back, husbands were buried Chorus: Bodies were left abandoned at home Because there was no one to make them a funeral Several refused to leave The house due to the dying Friars and nuns were to take care of patients Monasteries and convents Were soon deserted They were also severely affected Chorus Many wanted to confess his sins Express his last wishes Lived in fear, in their heads did not understand But the houses of the dead remained open With all their belongings, jewels and gold With open arms, the Black Death was waiting Chorus
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Her cunning flame, just a cruel fiction. She's just raking the bones, she's drowning. Faithless and shameless she prays, for the creature she longs for, he'll leave that whore in want, he's loveless. The sky wont fall. The blood is shed now. Hang your idols on the stained glass. Mount your skulls on what's been left... She gasps for breathe in his grave. She watched the creature decay. Ageless and faithless she prays. Her cunning flame, just a cruel fiction. The rotting things she has seen. Still searching for oblivion. She's god-like. The sun wont fall. These bones wont burn now. Hang your idols on the stained glass. Mount your skulls on what's been left... She took our eyes from our head. She put her hands through our rib cage. She ripped our hearts from our chest. There was nothing left... I saw the snakes in her hair, I watched the skin start to tear, she's still raking the bones, until there's nothing left...

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DSR013

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released October 31, 2016

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Doomsayer Records Atlanta, Georgia

Doomsayer Records is an independent label dedicated to the power of sound.

We cater towards Doom / Sludge / Stoner / Psychedelic / Blackened / Experimental type projects through physical releases and digital downloads.

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