Laura Nichol: Vocals
Ryan Hansen (Writhen): Guitars
Brian Forbes (ex-Cold Grave): Guitars
Ben Murray (ex-In Memoriam): Drums
Jon Frost (ex-Something Must Die): Bass
Guests
John Strachan (The Funeral Pyre, ex-Envilent): Vocals on The Collector, Part 2: Donor
Chuck Billy (Testament, Dublin Death Patrol, ex-Guilt, ex-Legacy): Vocals on Firehaven
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1. Stormchaser 05:26
2. Fragile Heroes 04:02
3. The Anhedonia Epidemic 04:54
4. Beginning with Release 04:59
5. Firehaven 03:35
6. The Collector, Part 1: Muse 03:33
7. The Collector, Part 2: Donor 03:44
8. A Desperate Resolution 04:34
9. Wake Me at Sunset 05:11
10. Bridge to Cross 03:30
11. Sand and Snow 03:20
12. Self Portrait 03:31
Total 50:19
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7 comentarios:
1. Stormchaser
There's something else circling overhead now,
a different kind of creature, bigger, out in the distance.
I'm following, watching, and I find myself again
underneath churning winds that draw me in.
Inside, a microcosm forms as emotions imitate the clouds,
twisting themselves into a rope, knotted at my heart
and anchored in the manic horizon.
Let's free ourselves from this stagnant mess for a while.
I've grown so tired of the same damn crises.
Let's leave a trail of debris in our wake,
we'll watch the birth of catastrophes, nightly.
I need to be a part of this wild machine.
I don't care where it takes me, or if I make it out alive.
I'm going to chase it til it breaks me, not giving up until I get inside.
I can feel the electricity being pulled from the sky
into the eye of this storm, and spit back out with a violent force,
terrifying with its indiscriminate reach,
echoing in my bones, thrilling me to my very core.
It cracks open time, and all the pressure in a moment is released.
The sound of it pounds the earth, then throbs through the ground.
I live this life always running to keep up,
with the wind following, driving forward,
or in front of me, pushing back.
Sometimes, I'm moving so fast, as if weightless,
other times, it feels as if my body's being dragged.
I'm racing my hopes along the veins of the country,
it's so hard not to fall behind.
I bury a drop of my blood beneath the soil of each city,
so that I can return and find myself, even if there's nothing else left.
2. Fragile Heroes
I always wanted to tell you I needed you
but now I'm glad that I never did,
because I never lied about that...at least.
It probably would have scared you, anyway.
One more excuse for you to run away.
And it scares me that you're so easily scared.
What falsity did I lead my heart into this time?
Unfailingly naïve,
maybe I just fell in love with being the dream.
Ugh, more and more, I find I don't want you.
Shit, another lie. Tried to deceive myself; it's not easy,
it's just pathetic.
Well, they say we don't need anyone...at least.
Ugh, you don't know. You never know,
and your uncertainty is infecting me,
because now even I'm not sure—
Do I hate you for not being who I thought you were,
or do I hate myself for loving one I've just created?
Didn't you know?
A hero's a most fragile thing.
One must never get close
enough to touch, or fuck,
for mortality can also be transmitted,
and with even a brush against our blemished human skin,
slick with impious fluids,
their skin becomes dry and cracked,
and holes form inside their perfect characters.
I guess now I can understand being let down
by an ideal...
When heroes turn to cowards, you start to resent your dreams.
You once glanced up into their brave, bright faces;
now you can't even meet their dull, downward-turned eyes.
Plagued with constant failure,
the only thing they will ever succeed in is disappointing
(it's so easy, it's so pathetic).
And so they stop trying, and never give you the chance
that was their promise to you, implied all
3. The Anhedonia Epidemic
When her body gave into that sickness again
(she always knew it would),
she didn't want to say a thing for fear
that if he knew, he'd never risk
getting even this close to her. Fever
has made her shameless. She's desperate to infect,
and she'd kill to hear him moan with misery,
burning sweet, keeping her suffering company with his,
bowels twisted from that seductive disease.
Some shit spreads with a secret contagion,
and you'll either be fascinated or repulsed
by the velocity of defeat.
Tell me, doctor, are you giving up?
yes, I know it's completely fucked.
Show me a credible witness
to the existence of a functional love...
or even just a functional fuck.
Doctor, are you giving up on me?
Don't you see it's each other we need?
You're the sadist and it seems I just might be
a masochist, neither one of us satisfied
until I'm writhing. And I overheard them say,
"Our guinea pigs are in for it;
we're straining day and night to find the origin
of this mutant strain,
once microscopic, now epidemic,
which crawled its way into her brain."
She didn't ask for it, but she's passing it
to everybody she meets.
And it might not be the most pleasurable thing,
but the sensation can be so addicting.
He won't surrender. His system guards against
the potential agony. But he will never realize that,
consequently, he's missing out on the ecstasy.
He won't surrender. His system protects him against me.
Well, it wasn't caused by amphetamines,
but his dopamine levels are unquestionably depleting,
and my favorite hypochondriac is starting to display
symptoms of hysterical paralysis.
All the doctors can say is, "There's nothing physically amiss."
Isn't it ironic? I'm the sadist,
but now it seems he just might be immune to what I inflict.
4. Beginning With Release
Second chances only create even more seconds to wait.
Everyone starts over.
Turns a new leaf.
But you're weak.
And even the weight proves much too heavy when your already burdened with a chip on your shoulder
That cuts as deep as her treachery...
And this release.
It won't be the end for me.
Our tug of war taught me resilience and a few more things.
I was only armed for battle you see.
But I didn't lose because I'm not lost.
And you have to be strong to keep holding on.
But it takes strength of mind to know when to release.
Is there release without forgiveness?
If I release, will I still remember?
I was only armed for battle you see.
But I didn't lose because I'm not lost.
And you have to be strong to keep holding on.
But it takes strength of mind to know when to release.
You've been saving all your pennies just to flip the coin.
Well heads up.
High roller.
All your going to see is tails.
As you watch me leave.
I never was your lady luck
And I'm fucking done being your second best.
No need to worry about me.
I'll bounce back from this with ease.
What a shame you won't be so lucky.
Cause you're not going up.
And you're not going down...
You'll just waver back and forth.
Still impossible to please.
Cause you're not going up.
And you're still not fucking going down...
You'll just waver back and forth.
Still impossible to please.
And this release.
It won't be the end for me.
Our tug of war taught me resilience and a few more things.
I was only armed for battle you see.
But I didn't lose because I'm not lost.
And you have to be strong to keep holding on.
But it takes strength of mind to know when to release.
Is there release without forgiveness?
If I release, will I still remember?
I was only armed for battle you see.
But I didn't lose because I'm not lost.
And you have to be strong to keep holding on.
But it takes strength of mind to know when to release.
You say we've only just begun.
And I say our beginning is done.
You never should have left.
No.
You never should have come.
You say we've only just begun.
And I say our beginning is done.
You never should have left.
No.
You never should have come.
5. Firehaven
[Based on Ray Bradbury's short story, "The Long Rain" from the book "The Illustrated Man"]
This planet is a single sea
and we have crashed into its solitary island.
The shores roll like boiling sand against the waves.
Rain comes down in constant sheets,
and the only source of hope or relief
is an oasis that mimics the sun.
I must find shelter, for I am in danger...
A few more hours of this, and I will drown where I stand.
Drops of lead drill holes through my skull,
hack away at my flesh, bleach the color from my skin.
They worm cold trails through my hair,
down my neck and spine.
Just praying for my body to go numb.
While some desert prisoners would challenge the sun and pray for rain,
I can't even lift my face to curse the bursting sky.
Millions of pelting, precious jewels are slowly driving me insane.
And I would kill a man just to feel the flames of Hell lick me dry.
Infinite streams tunnel into the soil
from steaming, angry clouds.
Melting away, stinging, crawling, dancing, slashing, choking...
We found him frantic,
slapping at the heavy raindrops sweating down his body
just repeating, over and over,
"Don't know enough to come in outta the rain.
Don't know enough to come in outta the rain."
I thought I saw the sun dome, radiating not far ahead.
My eyes transfixed, I raced for it, slipped and fell
and discovered my mind's trick.
"Lie here. It's only a mirage. Lie here, it's no use. Drink all you want."
Somewhere in this single sea, maybe they have an Atlantis of their own,
where they take you when they find you, use an entire day to drown and torture
unwanted visitors like me.
I'm forced to hold my breath until I find this place, buried underwater.
Beware the chase; I sought the storm and now I can't escape.
Heaven doesn't look so holy when it's heaving
6. The Collector Part 1: Muse
Lying here, inside a song, it seems, inside every song I've ever read
written not by a bloodthirsty man, but a shock-hungry trend;
rags of flesh discarded on the ground,
eyes and ears hastily carved from heads while a frustrated surgeon searched for
something he feared he'd never find.
The flies have long since settled on their feast,
breeding maggots in the eyesockets of the deceased;
the walls and floor undulate under tiny beasts.
Amidst the chaos and all the unclean a body lay cold, yet cared for,
stitched up, yet pristine.
A bedside jar held entrails waiting to be fit inside her empty shell.
She rested, queenlike, in this fragrant Hell,
her arms smooth and white, sewn to hands missing fingers.
My gaze trembled up her delicate neck,
and I noticed her mouth was opened wide.
Her pale hair flowed down to the floor, brushed and clean,
and next to several organs in glass, floated two large blue eyes.
Footsteps trampled down stairs; he was dragging another lucky bride.
I balled my fists, flexed my legs, and cursed my restraints,
a bad taste left in my mouth from biting through tape.
Trying to build the perfect woman, I see.
How very creative... a love you can customize.
How many donors did you volunteer—now flayed, displayed,
and forgotten in dark corners if not for the stench they emanate?
Am I joining the ranks?
What part of my body will you attach to hers?
7. The Collector Part 2: Donor
Thick hands released his victim's hair, as she slumped over,
I saw her slender fingers numbered, one to ten.
He sliced each from their knuckles.
Is taking a life as glamorous as your records make it seem?
What happened, a living woman wouldn't cut it for you?
Or, they wouldn't pay you enough attention
so you decided to fuck the girls that couldn't possibly say no?
He leaped from my new companion's side,
clutching his ten dripping prizes,
and slapped me across the face, screaming...
"Bitch, shut your mouth! I won't hear another word!
You think you're any different from them?
Just pray that heart is more gorgeous than the rest, or else your death
will be a waste of time... just like your life."
Damn, it's true.
Why are the ones who actually want the heart
the last ones we'd ever fucking give it to?
Flies scattered and swam around my bloodstreaked face
as he resumed his desperate work. The last finger sewn in place...
Unlikely for a man so drawn to novelty—
and so devoid of originality—to create,
from the blank canvas of his mind, such masterpiece.
Even fanatics occasionally exceed
their idols' genius. Maybe insanity
is just truly seeing beauty.
Still somehow, it may have all been for nothing.
She is beautiful, I'll give you that.
But she'll never be perfect. "She'll never talk back."
She'll never laugh, she'll never be warm.
"I'm used to them cold. I like it like that."
He scooped the insects from her sockets
and positioned her new eyes.
They'll never see you. She's soulless.
She's empty. "So am I.
She's ready for you. Are you ready to die?"
Jaded motherfucker! How many times have I heard that line?
You think I'm the same as the pawns in your game?
You're just a tired cliché,
a character spawned from a teenage brain...
Are you ready to die? Well this is the end.
What inspired you to Slay and Slaughter?
Now you're just selling a fucking trend.
8. A Desperate Resolution
"Don't get your hopes up,"
said the people I trust.
More easily said than done.
It's been a hard lesson.
There's something wrong
when one becomes
reluctant to fall in love,
when one's own blood
stands, pointing the gun.
My helplessness is a vicious cycle,
causing frustration that debilitates.
One is truly paralyzed when one sees that time
has begun to move too fast and too slow all at once.
And I can't determine whether it happened
gradually or immediately,
but my own weakness is now apparent to me.
Every day, everyone lies
even if they don't realize.
So, go ahead and decide.
Focus your eyes on mine,
tell me everything I'd die
to hear after all this time.
You'll just change your mind.
And guilty conscience drives
you to justify your actions,
then criticize mine.
Fool me twice.
I'm ashamed to find
these hopes have gotten so high.
Always half-expecting your story to change.
Give me your word, then rescind.
Spit my confessions back in my face.
Nothing replaces trust like total control.
My helplessness is a vicious cycle,
causing frustration that debilitates.
One is truly paralyzed when one sees that time
has begun to move too fast and too slow all at once.
And I can't determine whether it happened
gradually or immediately,
but my own weakness is now apparent to me.
Fathers and heroes may make promises they cannot keep.
But for the sake of continuing my life, I will promise myself one thing:
that I send my last hope to apathy,
for it is the only hero that will save me.
9. Wake Me At Sunset
[Based on Ray Bradbury's short story "The Rocket Man" from the book "The Illustrated Man"]
A flash brighter than lightning overhead,
but my town is asleep
so they don't see my father coming home.
I imagine him walking in the middle of this night
all the way back to us.
He likes to look up at the sky as he
steps out onto familiar ground.
Now he's rounding our corner,
now he's walking through the door,
he's walking through the door.
And my mother with her deadened eyes,
she comes alive.
"Don't go," I plead even though I know
I know his strong love for us both
won't keep him from the sky.
I know it tears him up inside to say,
"It's only one more time."
He knows it's just a lie he wants to believe.
"I need the stars flying by me,
the earth afloat, above or below, it doesn't matter where,
just as long as it isn't right here.
I'll be back before you know it and then
I promise you I'll be home for good"
"Let me go with you" I have begged ever since I was a child
I know just what he's going to say:
"I don't want you to end up like me,
aching between the mystery of new planets to be explored
and the comfort of this ancient discovery beneath our feet.
You'll struggle to give up that which you love
and it's not easy.
Son, just please promise me you won't become like me."
I just nod and let go even though I know
I know his strong love for us both
won't keep him from the sky.
I know it tears him up inside to say,
"It's only one more time."
A flash as bright as a rocket ship exploding,
but my town is asleep
so they don't see my father die.
I imagine him falling into the sun
and I look up at the sky.
"If only you would have stayed this time."
Now he's rounding the corner,
now he's walking through the door,
please, just walk through that door.
When I asked him how many ways
one could die in space, he said "a million.
they call them traveling graves.
If they can't find you, then they can't bury you."
Imagine how it feels to envy the stars and
resent the sun...
Morning won't ever be the same.
You never kept your promise, so I'm not keeping mine
Wake me at sunset so I can say goodbye.
10. Bridge To Cross
Standing over a fault line with a foot planted on either side,
with the only world I ever knew balanced on one shoulder,
and a heart I'm just getting used to beating on the other sleeve.
I stood my ground in a place I knew I might never find peace,
and as my foundation shakes, I'm left to wonder,
did I nurture this expanding divide?
Golden bridges turn the color of flame,
and suicide missions are redeemed when they become fatalities
of natural disasters. My steel core is melting.
Oh, if you only knew about the doubts I allowed
to grow up through the cracks, pushing their way out,
grasping at sunlight.
I can't choose a side, but I can't stay here anymore.
Standing on the edge, a voice begins to whisper.
I've tried to ignore it, but I can't avoid such a groundbreaking
revelation. Standing on the edge of an abyss,
I know where my real home is,
and I'm leaving it behind.
Jump down, and lose it all. I have a feeling I'll fall
anyway.
Standing on the edge of an abyss, because I'm holding onto so much,
I just might lose it all. I know where my real home is.
And I'm leaving it behind.
11. Sand And Snow
Every city is a ghost town where I see remnants of us that will never fade
Because they'll never see the light
The streets remember our footprints.
Maps made in sand and snow.
Where we walked.
Side by side.
The things we told each other.
Piece by piece.
As it comes back now.
Revisiting.
I stopped searching or our missing ending.
There are no dry winds carrying torn pages down abandoned roads, fluttering, caught on telephone poles.
Waiting to be found and read aloud.
Even if I, alone, returned to those streets deceased.
I'd be choked by the ashes of long combusted paper dreams.
You are being immortalized as I speak.
Not just in words.
But a reality.
I live in my sleep.
Last night.
I dreamt you followed me.
I can feel you always close.
Sometimes a day ahead.
Or two behind.
Hunting down a similar night.
Different from the next.
I can still hear your voice in the air currents you've since left and I've just found.
I told you to never try and find me.
But how can I ask memories to leave?
They just come and go as they please.
And even if I wrote a thousand songs.
No one will ever know what you've done to me.
They'll hear it echoing.
Or see the delicate skin shed from a body still evolving.
Ghosts of emotions lost and unable to give up
A carcass of a parasite that left
One final scar before cast from it's host.
We're not bound by ties.
But inescapably intertwined in each other's lives.
Your love was a glass cut like a diamond.
But I have discovered a truer fortune.
I take pity on your greed.
You will never regain wealth lost in me.
And even as I immortalize you with my words,
I know you don't deserve this.
12. Self Portrait
Now, listen.
Because I've listened to you.
Your voice, your words.
And the music behind them.
And all of it sinks in and weighs me down.
Finds my heart.
And breaks it down.
Breaks it open.
And empties it out.
Tries to fill it back up.
But it just spills out again into my whole body is awake.
I have never felt purer pain than this.
Your in complete control of all my senses...
Now you've gotten my attention, singing.
You've got my attention, sing it.
I left my hearts final punch echoing in that of the kick drums.
But somehow.
My finger finds the button.
And the resulting music kickstarts the vital pump.
Blood carries the beat to my ears at the peak of heightened sensitivity.
And I'm listening to the sound of a different voice now.
He's pulling love out of daring melodies.
Wrenching me from the most peaceful sleep.
The pieces come together again and the blood rushes back through it.
Singing.
The blood just rushes back through me.
Sing it.
Don't you understand this power in your hands?
You have made me understand everything that I am.
Don't you understand this power in your hands?
You have made me understand everything that I am.
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