Canvas

avant-garde jazz illbient

July 4th, 2024suno

Lyrics

The hour of reckoning is upon us. Hear now the toll of that there bell. Can you not hear its deathly knell? Its clarion call for we poor slaves to return once more to mill our backs-our-bones to meal for He-who-grasps-our-soul Handily in cold hands hands warmed only by the furnace of our fury. White his void filled only by our mad passion Empty until our hearts there paint him with our torment our misery our defiance to the grey world beyond its bound'ry

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