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Geocentrism

from The Archivists' Tragedy by Angel Grave

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lyrics

Upon a pedestal of palms I sit. Without a word, the torch drops
Gold and blood pumped into fantasy
The land god ails, her bandages fallacy
The crew of man sets his vessel ablaze
I must return to sea from this song of tragedy

Of pride and triumph our guest writes in black
He casts our world to the cosmos’s back
Bind his poisonous hands and try him for slander
The tale of man shall bellow like thunder

Marooned on soil, trapped as a troubadour Merrick
A cyan pall, the archives fade from my blackening mind
A strangled call, movements melt into the aether
A frozen hall, the archivists’ fate turns to ash in my hands
The symphony’s dead, development unresolved

Earth is saved, the freakshow is over
Invasion by lies and Snowden-esque cries
Stomped from existence and sheep realigned
Burn the shuttles and our knowledge of space
The black void is naught but a cesspool of sinners
Humanity shines as the angelic race!

credits

from The Archivists' Tragedy, released March 12, 2016

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Angel Grave Chicago, Illinois

A raging supernova of distortion, clave worship, swing, psychedelia, and whatever musical matter is caught in orbit. All that's certain is groove and danger.

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